


Stumbles and Seeds

by wickedrum



Category: Black Jack Randall - Fandom, Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Dubious Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pleasuring, Redemption, Sickfic, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-27
Updated: 2016-09-10
Packaged: 2018-05-23 14:04:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 35
Words: 58,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6118675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wickedrum/pseuds/wickedrum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It seems like it is becoming a nasty little habit of Jack Randall to resort to Claire Fraser's help in his times of need. A story arc that will see them all the way through to where the Frasers land in America as per canon, at which point, it will completely take on the shape of my own imagination. (A long term project one might say!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Rinse and Repeat

**Author's Note:**

> Premise and Author's Notes
> 
>  
> 
> Disclaimers: My sincere and profound apologies to Diana Gabaldon! I simply can't bear that my favourite Outlander series character was killed off, much less the when and how! Right after we got to know a different side of him in how he cared for his brother. No, no, no, no, I can't take that. But that's what fanfiction is for, right? When I am writing, it's mainly for my own pleasure. It's what I'd like to see happen so when I reread in a few months, years later, thus I find a story that is completely to my taste. ;)
> 
> Genre: G, redemption, sickfic, romance, it may be many things.
> 
> Rating: T with adult themes 
> 
> Set: Booksverse. A few weeks after Alex's death, with the difference that the Frasers didn't have to immediately leave Edinburgh. As such, AU from that moment, with some elements of the later Outlander universe storylines referenced and thereby assumed as true.
> 
> Main Characters: Jack Randall and Claire Fraser 
> 
> Notes: Read the following exempt from Diana Gabaldon's Dragonfly in Amber and tell me that Jack is not redeemable.
> 
> “‘I’m here, Alex. Oh, Alex, I’m here!’ She bent close to him, murmuring in his ear. 
> 
> The movement forced Jonathan Randall back a bit, so that he stepped away from the bed. He stood, staring expressionlessly down. The heavy, domed lids lifted once more, only halfway this time, seeking a face and finding it. 
> 
> ‘Johnny. So . . . good to me. Always, Johnny.’ Mary bent over him, the shadow of her fallen hair hiding his face. 
> 
> Jonathan Randall stood, still as one of the stones in a henge, watching his brother and his wife. There was no sound in the room but the whisper of the fire and the soft sobbing of Mary Randall. 
> 
> I felt a touch on my shoulder, and looked up at Jamie. He nodded in Mary’s direction. ‘Stay with her,’ he said quietly. ‘It wilna be long, will it?’ 
> 
> ‘No.’ 
> 
> He nodded. Then he took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and crossed the room to Jonathan Randall. He took the frozen figure by one arm and turned him gently toward the door. ‘Come, man,’ he said quietly. ‘I’ll see ye safe to your quarters.’ 
> 
> The crooked door creaked to as he left, assisting Jack Randall to the place where he would spend his wedding night, alone.”
> 
> Gabaldon, Diana (2011-08-31). Dragonfly In Amber: (Outlander 2) (p. 148). Random House. Kindle Edition. 
> 
> And before attacking me for promoting rape culture, please consider the following as the motto of my story:  
> “A good act does not wash out the bad, nor a bad act the good. Each should have its own reward.” George RR Martin
> 
> Further note to reader: I am assuming that you have read Dragonfly in Amber. My story will not make much sense to you otherwise. But you don't need knowledge of any later books to enjoy the story.

Chapter 1: Rinse and Repeat 

 

Come early 1746 and Claire Fraser's trade became fairly well known in all of the City of Edinburgh, and its surrounding areas and she had been called away further and further, much to Jamie's chagrin. At the same time, it was becoming quite apparent even without the regular and continuant news updates from the enemy she had become accustomed to during the course of the awkward, but utilitarian arrangement she had had with Jack, that the affair of the rebellion was not going well. Each moment took them closer and closer to the inevitable fate of thousands of Scottish men and their supporters'. 

 

Claire had to admit that these months could be their last together and Jamie was quite right in his demands of her to slow down on aiding others and allow him to love his wife a little bit more. On her way back to Hollyrood Palace after having attended a patient with high fever, the Englishwoman promised herself she would pass on any other professional calls for the rest of day, as much as to please Jamie, and also so that she could have a few moments of repose and the chance of feeling something pleasant for a change. Deep in thought and looking forward to quality time with her husband, the hushed voice coming out the freezing mist behind her shoulder startled her. 

 

“I believe The Western Road to Leith is quiet enough for a private conversation for the time being.”

 

It was Randall, of course it was Randall, approaching her in a no different manner than he had for the duration his brother Alexander was under Claire's medical care, but his current appearance was unexpected enough for Claire to look up and turn to her side where he had joined her, taking her attention away from the Royal Mile's cobblestones which could turn dangerously slippery and treacherous if temperatures dipped below freezing, or when it was heavily raining, which when it came right down to it, covered a lot of the time of the year. The oversight almost turned detrimental as the heel of one of her boots did skid. Fearing not as much for herself getting harmed, but a jolt of panic at the prospect of her in-view-of-the-battle-newly-replenished, valuable medicine bottles breaking if her bag touched the stony ground, her free hand looked for purchase on instinct and found it in the shape of a muscular, albeit relatively thin arm, locking muscles and providing the solid hold she needed. 

 

“Madam.” Jack acknowledged the occurrence and took the opportunity to steer her in the direction mentioned, polite and outwardly gentlemanly as ever afore they both let go at the same time, broken out of the startlement of the touch. 

 

In customary manner, they uttered no more words till stopping at their ad-hoc destination, where the army officer looked around to make sure they were out of earshot of everyone before he continued, “the Hessian forces of five thousand have arrived, along with the Government Cavalry. And yet the Duke of Cumberland has no plans to attack. The plan is to wait. Wait out till the Jacobites run out of money and food, which he thinks is not far. There have already been reports of some clan regiments slaughtering their horses to eat. I advise, for you and your husband to stay away. The orders are for no mercy, at any time before, during, or after a very likely favourable battle at several thousand men advantage.”

 

Jack had surprised her into a slow blink, but she got herself together shortly after. Standing face to face, and close together for the sake of their words not travelling far, her health professional instincts assessed him quickly. Of course married life would not favour him, not under the circumstances of mourning his brother and having to do with limited supplies, the British Army themselves. He was pale, with dark shadows under his eyes, more than before, and there was something off about his usually stiff stance, though Claire couldn't quite place it. “You are under no more obligation to supply me with any news.” The brunette stated the obvious that he somehow seemed to have missed. 

 

He nodded curtly. “I was hoping we could extend our previous agreement.”

 

“Oh.” That made more sense than him supplying them with information that could save their lives of his own accord. “Is it my medical services you need? Is Mary alright?” Claire found her concern directed at the younger woman. “For her sake, you don't need to bribe me. I would go willingly, for a friend.” Besides, it's not like any information Jack would give her would save any Scot destined to die on that battlefield now, that much had become clear. 

 

“She is well, for the time being. Which is why I need your help. There is nobody else I could trust with her welfare and nobody else I think capable of keeping her safe and well and away from harm's way.”

 

“Is your garrison leaving for Aberdeen then?” The nurse supposed it was time for the English forces that had so far remained in Edinburgh to join the rest of their troops. 

 

“No, Madam,” Jack established grimly, “my garrison, or as much as it remains of it might never leave,” he imparted mysteriously as he dug into the inside of his mantel to pull a small leather pouch off his belt he promptly placed into Claire's hand, making physical contact once more in a similarly startling manner as before. 

 

Taken aback, she frowned slightly in confusion, “what is this Captain?” She questioned.

 

“Ten pounds. The most of the rest of my funds. For your expenses, and possibly, Mary's. I would send her to her aunt's house if I would be sure she would stay there. But having cared for Alex for many months in his catching state as he was, she just simply takes it upon herself to care for the random, dying men of the garrison, certainly no less catching. I need you to keep her away from the outbreak.”

 

Claire felt an inkling to laugh despite the dire situation they have all found themselves in lately, or maybe because of it. The irritation in his voice was telling of how ridiculously he could not command his wife. With how he'd promised his brother to not to let her want for anything, it would've been highly inappropriate to treat her to any of that darkness he harboured and it amused Claire endlessly that he was forced to act decent. “There's an outbreak amongst your men?” She relented, reality always at odds with her inner wishes.

 

“The bloody flux. Half a dozen dead and three times as much not looking better for wear.”

 

The time traveller had to squash the urge to roll her eyes. At least cholera hadn't reached Europe yet, but that still left a catalogue of diarrhoeic diseases that went simply by the name of the damned flux. Add some unhygienic conditions and foodstuff of mainly dubious origins and basically any gastrointestinal infection could get hold on a large scale. “What are the symptoms?”

 

“They can't keep from soiling themselves, all blood and water. There's fever and the cramps appear to be intense.” Jack shook his head slightly, as if disquieted. It puzzled her a little how he blew the air out and then recovered his composure with crinkling his nose as it gave her the distant impression that he did at some level, care about those poor bastards. “They die grasping their bellies, in their own filth.”

 

Claire contemplated her options. Flying to the rescue of the enemy hardly seemed the recommended course of action. Besides, it wasn't likely that there was much she could do for the men who had already fallen victim to the disease. From the symptoms and the general pattern of the era, dysentery sounded most likely and may the cause be whatever bacteria or otherwise, dealing with the outbreak would take similar outlines. “Listen to me very carefully Captain. I will tell you the plan of action if you want to save any of your men,” she looked him square in the eyes, talking urgently. “Diseases like this tend to be self limiting and resolve on their own, as long as we can keep the body alive to do its job. What people die from is losing all the water in their bodies that they need,” she explained. It could be pretty obvious and yet it wasn't always to those in the present-day. 

 

His gaze sharpened and Claire guessed he would've commented if circumstances were different, look down upon his nose for her treating him like an half-wit, but it seemed like those days were gone for now. “You have to constantly give them more. The only way to make sure it's safe to do so and not spread the disease further is to boil it beforehand. Put a pinch of salt and a squirt of honey in each pint. Those are to replenish minerals and nutrients the body is also losing,” she gave him the basics of rehydration, not caring for explaining wording. “They should also keep eating while ill. Recovery takes longer if they don't. Keep them as clean as possible and soiled belongings should ideally be burned or at the very least also boiled. As for those caring for them, they should frequently wash their hands in boiled water too as not to spread the contagion. Do you understand what I'm saying? Will you remember it? Will you do it?” She pressed. It didn't sit well with her that only just at the other side of the Royal Mile there were people dying she could not help. 

 

Jonathan Randall nodded curtly, but solemn enough for her to view as consent and on turn, Jack took her urging words as a sign that she had agreed to his terms, “you will find Mary at Bonnington Mills. She is under the false impression that she is procuring flour for the troops and waiting for me there as per my instructions. Whatever she buys, you are welcome to take.” He nodded at her once more and before she had any chance to change her mind or say anything else, he disappeared in the direction they came from, mingling with customers and servants, rushing to get under shelter, away from the nippy air of the January twilight. 

 

Tbc


	2. Commitment

Chapter 2: Commitment

 

Bonnington Mills was quite a bit of a walk from the Royal Mile, and yet due to the engulfing thought processes that crippled the rest of her senses, even in her tiredness it felt like nothing in terms of physical exertion. There was a lot on her mind: what should she say, how would Mary react, how should she handle the younger woman. Having already been through a lot together, Claire felt a certain amount of responsibility for the other brunette and then, while she intended to make sure the newly married woman stayed away, Claire also wanted to quiz her on everything she knew about the illness raging up on Castle Hill because if it took hold somewhere, it usually wasn't long before the whole city suffered. First however, it seemed that the order of the day was herself getting over the size of Mary's pregnant belly when they embraced, as she saw it for the first time in plain sight and not hidden under gowns and petticoats. The nurse wasn't often wrong as far as medical matters went, but it appeared that she had seriously underestimated how far along the pregnancy was. Not ready to pop just yet, not a long way from it either. 

 

Unsurprisingly, Mary had proved to be pretty unavailing in providing the date of conception. While she had obviously gained some experiences regarding private matters, she was still clueless of others pertaining to female sexual health and reproduction. As for her mission, there was plenty of space at the Palace of Holyrood for her friend and tales abound of soldiers falling ill and fading within a day up at the castle, corridors swimming with excrement and bodies burning that lit up the Edinburgh night. Mary's fear was for Jack, or Johnny as she called him, following Alex' example. A Jack who gave her regard, provision, attention and at the same time, room to grieve. A Jack who gave her the gift of getting to know Alex more after his death through stories of their childhood. It wasn't a Jack Claire knew and it certainly wasn't one who's allusion Jamie ever listened to, making an excuse to busy himself with every time Mary opened her mouth. 

 

Claire didn't give it much thought, listening nigh disregardful. Jack would keep his word, that she didn't doubt and it didn't make him a good man, or a bad one. It made him the man he always was, one that she would keep out of her thoughts as much as humanly possible, circumstances permitting. Mary was profoundly preoccupied with the subject however, comparing the similarities between the brothers, physical and otherwise, so much so that Claire was starting to become unsure if it was the memory of the father of Mary's child who the younger woman honoured or it was a new love she harboured for her benefactor. It disturbed Claire on a new level, reminding her or the brothers' similarities to her Frank she had decided to abandon. Did Alex never tell Mary of his brother's darkness? And how much of this darkness was the youngest Randall brother really aware of?

 

The question of possibly warning Mary of Jack's malefic ways however wasn't as pressing for Claire though as her urge to get involved and not simply sit idle as malady skunked to penetrate the mist below the castle and affect the inhabitants of Grassmarket after bodies were found rolled down the hill and onto King's Stables Road. And while Mary could be kept back for the sake of her unborn child, Claire could not convince herself with similar incentives. For one, nobody knew she was with child yet and could pressure her with it, and then she was aware of hygiene matters and would not be at as much risk as others were. And most importantly, there was the fact that she could only live in the here and now as after Culloden, they'd most likely to be dead. Feeling somewhat guilty and not inclined to engage in a conflict with the love of her life, she waited till Jamie took off to intercept a letter in Portobello for making her first visit to the fortress to find that despite a high body count and the stench that evaded her nostrils as soon as she reached the Half Moon Battery, conditions weren't as bad as she'd suspect in good faith as per misconceptions of the century about contagious diseases. 

 

Armed with two gallons of rehydration liquid of her own concoction, Claire was directed to a building with gargoyles and sculptures on the outside, not far from the Forewall, where Captain Randall operated a commendable triage system as she found. As soon as anyone within the confines of the fort showed signs of the disease, they were sent and restrained in this edifice, centralising both contagion and smell to this part of the castle only. Claire was glad to see that her advice was also heeded, with large cauldrons boiling water under elaborate wall engravings. Tending to the sick and administering home made sweet and salty water to them however there weren't many. These people were positioned here, long distances away from their families and at times like this there weren't many others who would volunteer to mess with the devil's work and illnesses he would send upon wretched mortals. To some victims it was hard to get to for the revolting brown puddles they lay in. So that was where Claire started, getting a hold of a bucket and mop, making the rows of patients accessible. Nothing was below her, such work was in fact essential, she had learnt that well through experience in the World War and at the L’Hôpital des Anges. With nobody around who would be disputing her methods, getting in the way or questioning her presence, she was looking around to decide which cauldron she could use to disinfect blankets when she found herself face to face with one of the redcoats who turned on his heels just after bringing in and pouring more water into one of the caldrons. Breath caught in her throat in surprise. Didn't he have men to order around to do that sort of thing?

 

“Sending people into slaughter and cannons as fodder is somehow different to them,” he explained her unvoiced question, “they'd rather be locked into the castle vaults for disobeying orders and be dealt with later as they indeed are, than come here.” He nodded at her in greeting and carried the bucket bucket out. 

 

It was the only sentence that passed between them that day, but she'd seen him giving orders to the men who dared to be around. He wanted them to help her with whatever she needed and carry more water, and the following days passed in a similar fashion. They were winning by this time, or more like not losing abysmally anymore, with less soldiers falling ill every day and less perishing if they did. Claire was confident that she would have to anger Jamie no more with coming here, perhaps castle dwellers could handle the rest themselves and so she skipped on visiting on Sunday. She was going to find Randall though on this her hopefully last visit on Monday, tell him to come get her if fates turned ugly again. Jack was however uncharacteristically nowhere to be found during her rounds in the emptying halls. 

 

“Julian,” Claire addressed the corporal who had been one of the first to recover and as such he had helped her with the rest of the sick over the last few days, “where will I find your captain?”

 

“The addressed averted his eyes sheepishly. “Don't you know, Mrs. Frazer? The captain has taken ill the night afore last. He's in a bad way,” he supplied. Claire looked around the hall, but the Englishman shook his head and turned her to the right and round a corner into a more secluded part of the great hall, barred off with tables and armoury chests and providing effective privacy sorely needed judging by the soggy blankets underneath the man she was looking for. 

 

“Why is nobody tending to him?” Claire questioned, understandably reluctant to volunteer.

 

“We were,” the soldier assured, “but he's been chucking everything back up. There's hardly any point, bar for torturing him,” the man held, somewhat unsure of her reaction. Clearly not one that has served under Randall for long cause then he'd might think otherwise about the needs of torturing that officer. “I've seen it many times over these last weeks. The ones who had the flux start so suddenly and fiercely do not recover,” he tried to excuse himself. 

 

But Randall wasn't supposed to die till April. Or did they change as much as that of history somehow? “Get me a cup and a bowl for washing,” Claire decided, shaking her head slightly as Jack moaned unconscious, body limp and blanch bar for the fingers that dug into his own belly in a characteristic manner to this outbreak in the sufferers' vain hopes to ease the spasms. She should let him rot, but her nurturing qualities and perhaps more her moral compass didn't let her do that. Carefully avoiding as much of the unpleasant secretions as much was possible, she knelt next to him to take his pulse. 

 

He was indeed in a bad shape, with a weak and rapid pulse of over a hundred, freezing cold hands despite the fever that raged in the rest of his body. Pinching the skin to see how quickly it bounced back as a test for dehydration was almost unnecessary, it was clear it wouldn't and to make matters more obvious, there was a blue tinge to his lips kept open by his rapid, shallow breathing. She had to get some liquid into him and quick. “Please tend to the others,” Claire took the items she asked for from Julian, then set to attempt to rouse Jack. “Captain?” She took hold of his jaw to turn his head towards her and patted his cheek as it felt appropriate for the moment, which was non too lightly. 

 

It seemed like Jack was squeezing his eyes shut more rather than opening them now, but it was a reaction, a sign that he was in there at least at some level of consciousness and thus she lifted his head and poured some of the honeyed water into his mouth. He did swallow, perhaps too greedily at that, his thirst clear till he started coughing. Claire helped him roll to his side when he tried and didn't manage and readied herself for him vomiting again, but it didn't come, it was his eyes that ventured open instead, gaze unfocussed, eyes sunken. 

 

With a clearer cognitive state, awareness of his complaints came and he curled into himself, arms around his belly and shaking. “You need to drink a lot more,” Claire established firmly and none too different to how he'd coaxed other soldiers earlier. 

 

“Mhhmmm,” Jack gave nondescriptly as a response, but Claire still took it as acknowledgement and manoeuvred the cup to his lips, or more like, as it were, his lips to the cup. He didn't resist, but didn't make much of an attempt to help her either and the exertion still exhausted him. The last mouthfuls of the boiled and cooled down water spilt out his mouth unswallowed and he went limp to the extent it was impossible to hold him and so Claire had to let go. She gave a sigh at the characteristic of the illness-many of the sufferers died simply because they have gotten too weak to as much as drink, and too quickly. If she ever got a breather in between exiles and wars, she would have to come up with a design that could double as an intravenous drip or at least procure some syringes she could use to pump fluids directly into veins. 

 

“You need to drink some more,” Claire persisted, parroting like a gramophone. It seemed like that was all she had been saying over and over again over the last few days. Getting no response, she resorted to physical handling once more. She supported the patient's neck and angled his head at the replenished cup. 

 

Jack countered that with some resistance this time. He moved his head minutely away to refuse the handling, “just let me die,” he managed slowly, breathlessly, as explanation. “Surely, it will be of some satisfaction.”

 

“You will if you don't down at least a couple of pints of water over the next few hours.” She agreed and forced some into his mouth unrelenting, only to cause a coughing fit with it going into the wrong pipe. 

 

The gagging made him seize, both arms cradling his belly and he did swallow then, desperately trying to keep from vomiting, to no avail. Claire cursed and starting mopping the new mess, “maybe we should try something to stop the vomiting first,” she took a little aniseed, mint and fennel from her bag to add to the rehydration mixture. “A couple of sips and see how you go after,” she encouraged. 

 

Jack gave her a wary glance, but complied with being given medicine, bar for the wince and pulling a leg higher towards his stomach with a little jump when handled and squeezing his eyes closed and blowing the air out slowly when he was let down onto the filthy blanket again. It wasn't a good sign, the way movement hurt him. “I'm going to take a look at your belly and clean you up,” Claire informed him and pulled the coat he was covered with aside. “You need to let me,” she reached under reluctant hands and gently pushed them aside. Then the nurse pulled his shirt up and proceeded with light palpation. There was no distension or palpable masses and he got his guarding reflex under conscious control, just about, by biting his lip, but there was some rigidity, indicating inflammation and he was clearly in pain, especially round the area around his navel, where pressing made him pant and pale further. 

 

“I'm dying,” he summarised her findings. 

 

With a drip, round the clock intensive care and antibiotics, probably not. Only no such things were available in this century. “It's not your time yet,” she grouched stubbornly, hung up over Frank's genealogy.

 

“Should I wait till April then?” He mocked her foretellings.

 

Claire shook her head. This was not right. None of this was right. After Mary's marriage to Jack and the impossibleness of stopping the rebellion, her and Jamie became convinced that history could not be changed as in the future where Claire came from, it has already happened. There had to be some reason why Jack had to live for a few more months, probably to do with the baby. Going by how big the unborn child felt when she had examined Mary, the Randall offspring would surely be born soon. Perhaps Jack would write to his older brother to maybe provide for them financially after his possible demise in the campaign, however little amount of money that would yearly be, judging by William Randall's earlier stinginess. Either way, despite medical signs, Claire had to suppose Jack wasn't dying, not just yet. “Your wife needs you,” she said instead and persisted with raising the cup to his lips.

 

Tbc


	3. Agency

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jamie's accent does not come over as strongly in the books as it does on screen. I'm going to attempt to change that with trying to convey how people sound around here (the West of Scotland, round where Sam Heughan comes from).

Chapter 3: Agency

 

It appeared that all Claire's efforts to rehydrate the captain of His Majesty's Eighth Dragoons were largely ineffective. Julian's words echoing in her mind of it hardly being any point to trying to help him, she mopped up the latest of his vomit. Judging by how much the effort of expelling his stomach contents seemed to have exhausted and pained him, she finally decided to give up on the fruitless exercise for the time being and try to make him a bit more comfortable instead, as she would do for any soul on death's doorstep. 

 

Having had all his clothes soiled with various body fluids and no clean ones to put him into, Jack was essentially naked under the blanket and passed a mental state to care about such matters. So it was fairly easy to clean him up of the blood and mucus he's passed down below. Claire held no conscious intention to inspect the damage Jamie inflicted in France, but avoid it she could not either. The injury extended to both the testicles and the penis, but it wasn't as extensive as Jamie assumed it was. Randall still had a phallus, bar mangled, that could've probably been repaired with surgery in her time in the future, but of course it was too late for that, or too early, depending on how you were looking at it. One testicle was clearly missing and whether the other was still inside there somewhere she could've only been able to tell by examination by tactual exploration and that was something she was certainly not going to do only to satisfy some part of her brain that was curious about how successful Jamie had been in his endeavour to harm him where it really mattered in terms of their previous history. 

 

Claire averted her eyes after a mere glance and covered him up, taking to clean his chest of the vomit. His belly she did not touch, he grabbed at it himself, unable to shake the effect of the cramps even half unconscious and she could not help remembering Jack's own words when he mentioned the disease to her, his men dying in their own filth, grasping at their convulsing bellies. Assuming the cool water will at least lessen his fever somewhat, she dabbed at his neck and jaw with a cloth instead. There was not much she could do for him now, whether she re-examined his abdomen and the scale of the infection or not. She had seen too many soldiers dying in this manner already not to feel heavyhearted at the sight. 

 

Him snapping up to grasp her wrist caught her by surprise and the strength of it too. For a moment, he was hurting her there, though she was quite sure it wasn't meant as his intention, not this time. The nurse looked into feverish, bleary eyes, his breath coming in agitated gasps. “Please...” He gulped, looking like the movement hurt him more than it hurt her, reminding her of how she quietened another dying Randall, looking eerily similar, only mere weeks ago.

 

“I have sent for laudanum,” she pacified, “it should be here any moment now. It will ease your pain, I promise,” she assured him, benevolent in the face of such suffering. 

 

Jack shook his head. “Forgive me..” He steadied his gaze, intent on her answer. 

 

It got her to reel back a little, pull her hand out his grasp and sober. Circumstances have softened her previously, but he had to remind herself of who and what he really was. Her answer was frigid and distant as a consequence, “I can and I could be amenable to forgive you for what you have done to me, but I have no right to forgive you for what you have done to my husband.”

 

Her response seemed to calm him nevertheless. Jack nodded and settled back, closing his sunken eyes, “that I know I can never ask for, not even from him.” His voice quietened with every word as he spoke.

 

Him. Jamie's name he never uttered, agreement and his word was kept, still. As if watching from the outside, a state brought on by the painful memories of how she became aware of what happened in that prison cell, Claire's medicine woman self noted all the same that at the end of that little burst of energy he became paler, greyer and more tranquil, his palm settling on his stomach, but not groping into it. 

 

“Sassenach?” A quiet, hesitant voice said behind her. Jamie frowned at her questioningly as she turned, then promptly pulled her round and behind the corner, out of Jack's line of vision, that is if he would've opened his eyes and was conscious at all. “That is no how I wanted him ta go,” the Scotsman grumbled, shaking his head disapprovingly, complaintive. 

 

“You shouldn't be here,” Claire immediately worried for his welfare, “I don't want you to catch this disease.”

 

“Yet fondling his privates out of all people ye do want damn it!” Jamie rolled his eyes, speaking a little too loudly. 

 

Claire stiffened and half checked around. A couple of people turned their heads in their direction, but were most likely too buried in their own misery to care. “You well know what that was for. Not to mention you're inside an English military post, with your red hair peeking out from under your cap and speaking with an obvious Scottish tang!” She raised a finger at him and pushed him closer to the wall on instinct. 

 

“Aye, an' I shall no be shushed in me ewn country!” He complained, but mellowed immediately, taking it down a notch. “For all they'd be all sick or dying at any rate, are they no?” 

 

“Likely,” his wife admitted to the probability, “and there's no need for you to join them. Why are you here?” The brunette demanded. 

 

“Ye've sent fe that laudanum?” Jamie spoke emphasizing every word, expressing half his anger over the whole situation and half his frustration with her not remembering the message she had sent herself. “God only kens why we're helping the enemy.” He had to at least protest, even knowing it will do him no good against Claire's stubbornness. 

 

“I've sent a message to Murtagh, not you,” Claire continued to argue. 

 

“Ah, so he could die as much as ye care.” Jamie seemed to be in an awfully argumentative mood, but that wasn't unusual and maybe with a good cause this time. 

 

“You know that isn't true. I simply trust him to behave more sensibly and cautiously around here,” she countered, “now give me the vial and go,” she demanded.

 

“It is no going so, Sassenach. Something fe something. I give ye the phial an' ye promise ye come home. Ye've no been ta the palace in days. Have ye slept at all fe one!” He has long gotten used to and learnt not to contest her healing streak, but his concern for her won out. 

 

“I've slept a few hours last night,” she conciliated.

 

“Where!” Jamie threw up a hand, indicating their surroundings, “in this clart! Even I can tell it is hummin, woman!” Maybe the English troops were generally better equipped in general, but that certainly wasn't the case here.

 

“Over at the Governor's House,” Claire pacified once more, only realising in her indeed fatigued state that she had made a mistake. The building was for officers after all.

 

“You've slept in his bed,” the Scot concluded, taking his hand off her in revolt.

 

“Better than here.” It was her best argument and a very weak one at it, “the vial,” she put her hand out, “I will administer it to as many as I can and then I will come home.”

 

“Heaven help ye so, Claire Fraser, cause if no, then ye can deal with a very fiery husband!”

 

“I might not mind fiery.” She stepped forward as if making to attend to her assumed duties, pausing close up in his personal space as she did so, “your intent to consent to disguise breeches are quite remarkable, but I'd bet you'd like the usual space for your privates more,” she teased, banking on her alluring power on him to mellow his attitude.

 

“Claire!” The Scot blew the air out his nose, breeches becoming tighter indeed as she spoke. Maddening how she had that manner with him that never allowed him to hang on to his anger for long. In his own defence against a growing need to simply grab her and haul her out of there on his shoulders despite her will, he handed the laudanum over from his coat pocket.

 

“I will be there before it's dark,” she promised, putting a hand on his front that finally made him visibly sway a little as two wills fought inside him till he gave in and nodded, knowing he could not win the battle, but it looked favourable for his side for the war. At least as much as marital discord went. 

 

The nurse checked the amount of the medicine the bottle held, calculating in her head how many drops she should give to Randall and how many others was it sufficient for. It's not like it was easy to come by, nothing was anymore in the general atmosphere of hostility that took over the country occupied by two major military forces at the same time. Most apothecaries have run out, but she might be able to get it straight from a seller at the port and she will have to as well before coming back here. Spending a day on that should keep Jamie happy too, with her away from the castle. Slowly, she turned back and her attention on Randall, curled up around his belly, breathing shallowly and with gaps through and as dictated by the pain. Hoping the medicine will not go to waste by his stomach expelling it again, she tilted his head a little in a way that allowed her to drip laudanum into his mouth.

 

The bitter taste rose him a little out his semi-aware state and he swallowed on instinct before bleary eyes searched unconsciously for the cause of the intrusion. “The cramps will ease,” she promised, “just rest.” 

 

Jack continued to blink at her, intermittently holding on to the eye contact as he tried to gather some strength to speak, “last rites?” He acknowledged her having stopped to try to rehydrate him.

 

“Do you want a reverend?” Claire asked somewhat surprised. Jack had made allusion to disapproving the deeply religious before and besides, if god was truly just, should a man like him ever get into heaven? However, if that was what he wanted, she would send for a minister.

 

The Englishman shook his head, validating her assumptions of his spirituality, “if I am dying, then I am allowed to say his name.” The corners of his mouth turned up a little and his eyes bore into hers as he reverentially uttered, “Jamie.” He was looking into her soul for a similar resonance that man's name set off inside both of them, passion, admiration, idolization, want. Claire wouldn't add love to his part, though she knew from Jamie that Jack claimed to have the sentiment. A sick, twisted version that will thankfully die with him and they'll never have to worry about it again, or the link between them that seemed to never be severed for good, no matter where they were. 

 

The thought sobered her. There were others she could maybe save instead of giving her attention to the undeserving, may it be destinies entwined and unshakable similarities to Frank or not. “Good bye Jack.” She rose, feeling like the burden she had been carrying on her shoulders has been lifted. 

 

His gaze was reluctant to let her go of her. “Jamie,” he repeated, quieter and more lethargic than before. His blinking eyes struggled to keep open. “Jamie...” 

 

“Damn you and your idiotic mind on how to treat a love one,” she spat, aggravated by his audacity of him wishing for or imagining her husband by his deathbed. “Here, you sleep.” On a whim, she poured a few more drops of laudanum into his mouth and placed a cup with water, spiced with yet more of the precious medicine measured into it for his later use if necessary. The nurse would rather have him comatose, than dying with that name on his lips. She waited a few moments till she could take satisfaction in how he stilled, then sighed. Possibly overdosing him didn't give her as much of a satisfaction as it should've. Or maybe it was that she was still laden with the impossibility of treating the others without twentieth century medical innovations. Try though, she might, she was Claire Beauchamp Randall Fraser, combat nurse, healer, witch, spy, informant and lover extraordinaire after all. At that last bit, she found the determination she needed to tend to the other suffering soldiers.

 

Tbc


	4. Never

Chapter 4: Never 

 

Claire felt like whacking Jamie in the head with her brush. Breakfast in bed presented by her half naked husband had been nice, but of course he had to omit the small detail that she had been asleep for over a full day and never had any intention of waking her till she did so on her own. Thankfully she had acquired more medicine from a ship returning from the Mediterranean the day before her comatoseness and could now rush up the Royal Mile promptly in the hope that the outbreak had indeed followed her predictions of being snuffed out or at least diminishing, with very few new casualties.

 

While Julian was still carrying water into the Hall the sick men were kept, the smile on his face already told Claire the story. That, and the busier than lately yard, with horses being readied and sacks carried. The corporal set his bucket down at seeing her and ambled over mirthfully, “good day Madam! The Captain requested your presence as as soon as you arrive,” he reported, “so he can thank you personally for your grace and assistance.”

 

“Captain Randall?” Claire wondered, tilting her head somewhat inquisitively. There could have been another commissioned military officer named in the case of his demise. 

 

“Yes, M'am. He is very weak and can't come himself,” he explained, indicating the building behind him, “you'll find him where he was before.”

 

Claire nodded at the Englishman, “thank you Corporal. I trust everyone else survived?” She wanted to make sure.

 

Julian bobbed his head enthusiastically, “everybody who was in there when you were last here,” he confirmed, “all recovering it seems.”

 

“I'm glad to hear it,” the nurse meant it too, somewhat taken aback internally by the news of Jack's survival. Of course she had thought him dead by her and her husband's doing twice before, once by the cattle that knocked him over in Wentworth prison, once by the injury Jamie imparted on him in France, yet here he was surviving again against all odds. It really had to be April of this year then at Culloden, she supposed. 

 

The view in front of her however when she turned the corner to the secluded bit of the Hall the officer was settled into gave her some pause. Jack was breathing and had been dressed in a clean shirt, that much was true, but he didn't look all that much better for wear than he was when she had last seen him. His skin a greyish colour, he didn't seem to notice her arrival, head lying floppy as he was turned towards her. Nurse instincts on automatic pilot, she reached for his wrist and concentrated on taking his pulse as he slowly moved his head at the touch and his sunken eyes focussed on her with some difficulty. “I have news for you,” he croaked quietly, confidentially, though Claire doubted he could speak louder right now if he would've wanted to. 

 

“Just a moment,” the brunette looked around for both of their sakes instead of him checking to start with as he didn't seem alert enough to remember the need for secretiveness, “let me give you some medicine first,” she took some lycopodium powder out her bag to mix with his water and help his heart along slowing down. “Mary is well, and the babe too as far as I can tell,” she imparted as she worked, not sure herself why. Perhaps to make the everpresent uncomfortableness between them less striking. Mix ready, she held out the cup for him, unsure whether he was strong enough to take it, but reluctant to touch him now that he was a bit more like himself. 

 

He struggled with it indeed, taking a long time to as much as turn and position himself to be able to take the cup and then almost spilled it on himself. Not wanting the medicine to go to waste that she usually acquired either expensive or with painstakingly long work if she made it herself, Claire's hand snapped out to steady the bottom of the cup without making contact with his skin. “Are the cramps gone?” She enquired nevertheless, not at all convinced he was recovering as well as Julian had assumed, her medical examination of him not complete yet. 

 

He panted a little at the exertion of swallowing half the cup's contents and dropped back on the straw padding that had been placed there for his head. “More or less,” he allowed. 

 

Less, she had to assume and added a new dose of laudanum to this cup. “I will have a look,” she ascertained.

 

Jack moved his head to blink at her with a hint of confusion, but allowed her ministrations wordlessly and lethargically, the muscles of his tender abdomen speaking for themselves and they both knew it. He wasn't out of the woods yet and while he had passed the worst of the dysentery, his slightly warmer than normal state and the involuntary guarding of his upper abdomen spoke of a possible secondary infection, not surprisingly after the precarious health issues he'd suffered over the course of the time they've known each other. “Every man who's able is to leave tomorrow to join the Duke of Cumberland,” he returned to business. 

 

“You won't be one of them,” she observed out loud. It was of course obvious, but it held ramifications that transfixed her. Yes, maybe he could join them later, but signs were still indicating he wasn't to die at Culloden, which meant that either records were wrong or that history did change. A re-evaluation of that assumption passed on a regular basis now. 

 

“And because of that, this is probably the last bit of news I can provide. Part of the Hessians are to be positioned south of Aberdeen, to cut off possible Jacobite escape routes,” he provided the main message he was intending to.

 

“I understand. I never expected as much news from you at any case,” the woman admitted her appreciation of his solid wordkeeping, “much good is it going to do,” she expressed her frustration with history. 

 

He considered conversation and his duties as per their arrangement over nevertheless and let his eyes close as they wanted. “If every able men is to leave, who's taking care of those still in need of medical care?” The professional question occurred to her naturally. 

 

“You don't suppose His Majesty would give care for such matters?” Jack grunted offhandedly as if the affair didn't affect him and placed the back of his wrist over his eyes, blocking out the outside world. 

 

“Alright.” Claire mentally strengthened herself for what was to be done. “I will examine all the rest of the recovering patients. You were one of the last to get ill and you are still passed the acutely contagious stage, but I will make sure to check everyone did and in that case you can perhaps hire someone temporarily for their care. As for yourself, I believe you would be better placed in your officers' quarters than down here in this filth. I trust there's no more solid reasoning keeping your wife back with us, god only knows how much she's been raring to come to your aid for some reason,” she sighed. The more time passed, the more Claire felt less likely to ever tell her anything about Jack's dark side. Not till there was cause for it at any case.

 

“It's safe?” The Englishman peered out from under his cufflinks.

 

“It is, if I instruct her with proper direction,” Claire promised, standing. Perhaps she was a little too eager to give responsibility over, but who could blame her for that. 

 

Tbc


	5. Apprehension

Chapter 5: Apprehension

 

Of course Claire should've known their destinies will not remain detached for long. Not even a week passed since her last visit to castle to make sure Mary knew how to handle the recuperating soldiers and put herself or the pregnancy to no risk, and yet Claire was woken to the faint impression someone was at their door at the palace. Wanting not to leave the bed herself knowing that Jamie was better equipped to deal with the Scottish cold, she sneaked a hand under the covers and rubbed it up her husband's chest, “did you hear something?” She murmured sleepily, suggesting he should move. 

 

The Scot let out a soft, elongated grunt, half appreciating the touch, half being semi-aware that his own shrewd and apprehensive senses did indeed register a dull rattling, which given the hour, could not be of any good tidings. Mostly due to the word he now knew have been coming steadily provided by the unlikely source of his arch-enemy, Jamie did not expect any urgent call to arms from the Prince just yet, so the arriver was most likely to be asking for Claire's services. There were a couple more rattles before he slowly slid out of bed and opened the door.

 

There was a figure indeed at the other side, not for long, as it tilted forward while also folding at the legs and in the dim light of the corridor torches nearby, Jamie became aware that he was being unbalanced also by the weight that ended in his arms, the groaning form of Jack Randall's seemingly half conscious body, desperately trying to keep awake by clinging to Jamie's flimsy shirt with a fist and all his might, which given the circumstances, probably wasn't much. “Oh fer god's sakes in the name of the wee man yer havin me on!” Jamie complained, rolling his eyes and more dropping Jack onto the floor, than setting him down, “Claire! Get yerself her' da now!” He ordered his wife in the most commanding voice that has ever left his lips addressing her. No part of him wanted any more contact with that man than was absolutely necessary. “Wherefore does this nyaff need and appear all the time?” He shook his head, retreating, while Claire entered swaddled in blankets and with not much underneath as Jamie was well aware. While Randall's personal manner, grounds and justifications have been vastly different than before, the clan leader had some amount of suspicions of him staying near as a way of stalking the younger man.

 

“Jamie, get some water,” Claire was taking the Englishman's pulse. It was hard to assess him otherwise in the near darkness reigning over the room bar for one candle's light by the table.

 

“Oh, gladly,” Jamie declared and before Claire could get any hint of what he was doing, the Scot poured the entire contents of the washbowl over Jack's head, achieving the effect Claire wanted in a different way. The Englishman put a hand up to shield himself from possible more dousing and rose to an elbow shakily, his head still lolling from disorientation. 

 

Claire grunted in some displeasure. While she could completely understand Jamie's actions, they weren't very helpful given that temperatures Randall came in from were under freezing and it wasn't all that much better inside either. Bedrooms in Holyrood Palace were way too large for a little fire in the evening to make much of an impact. And she still had to get the cause of his arrival out of him. “Captain.” Though she slapped him to get his attention in a fairly non-medical manner, it was not too harsh and she kept her hand on his cheek to direct his gaze at her, “why did you come? It fairly looks like you shouldn't be out of bed just yet.” 

 

“Mary,” he nodded minutely, stuck on the word and somewhat out of breath. 

 

“She didn't end up with the flux, did she?” Claire was ready to blame herself. She was the one after all who deemed the young married woman safe to look after Jack mainly because she herself didn't want to be in more contact with them. 

 

Jack shook his head, “if anybody can stop her from losing the child, it's you. There's a lot of blood and it's too early.”

 

Claire swallowed and closed her eyes for a moment. Stop her. As if she could stop herself in similar circumstances. “I am not omnipotent, captain,” she summarised her feelings on the matter. Still, it was immediately clear in her mind that she would go and try her might. “Jamie,” she noticed him slinking towards the whisky stand. “I will get dressed and rush over. Randall would slow me down considerably. Which is why it's you who will need to bring him round once he has recovered from the exertion,” she hurried behind the dressing wall.

 

Unhampered by inhibitions and refusing to take into consideration any allure she might have had for privacy, Jamie stalked after her outraged, whiskey forgotten, “you wad honestly leave me here with that charny bastart?”

 

Claire paused in piling skirts to fend from the weather to give her man a look, “he's hardly going to do any harm now is he.”

 

“You ken fine well what I meant!” Jamie continued to complain, “what wad ye have me dae? Cosset 'im an' swaddle 'im in blankets afore I throttle 'im to deeth?”

 

“Jamie,” she started in earnest, but avoided eye contact as she busied herself with a hat. “Regrettably there's hardly anything that can be done for either mother or child in this position in this century. Thankfully there was someone there for me who I owe my life,” she reminded him, “I wouldn't feel it fair if I stopped at anything else.”

 

Jamie presented a ho-hum face, internal debate still making him purse his lips, but he let her kiss him goodbye good-naturedly and walk out the door into the night. The Scot sighed to himself and rolling his eyes, he ambled out from behind the wall, only giving one glance over to the ill captain, who had managed to manoeuvre himself into a sitting position. While Jamie's tightly woven cotton shirt was long enough to cover any personal assets, the younger man would not feel comfortable with that criminal present till he was fully clothed and so busied himself with arranging his kilt and brocks into a wearable shape in the bedroom and out of sight. Well aware of the other's presence from heaves and grunts and the Englishman clearing his throat, Jamie was in no hurry and was folding the plaid neatly, at leisure and even after rolling himself in some more plaid as a way of a coat, he stood, disinclined, idly wondering if there was any point to delaying what needed to be done. Should he get on and over with it or was there some chance his long time arch-enemy would clear out on his own if left long enough. 

 

Retching sounds dissipated his hopes and after some eyerolls Jamie finally reappeared to throw a cloth at the older man to clean himself up with or at least dry his still dripping, long hair. Which one should Jack do, he could not care less about, although he did prefer if he did not have to deal with that mess later. Raising his eyebrows, he settled on the divan to watch the display, somewhat nonplussed at the unlikely occurrence. Jack was no well, a blind could see that and Jamie was sure he would've felt some sort of sympathy towards anybody in that situation, anybody but the one in front of him, who's hands were shaking as he squeezed water out his hair, his balance as precarious while sitting that Jamie had to assume that sooner or later he would topple over into his own sick, a puddle not too ominous in size, but it was what it was nevertheless. At last, he had enough of the outlandishness of the state of affairs and stood swiftly and on a whim, grabbed his former captor under the armpits and without much ado, placed him over to the wall to be supported by it as he sat. 

 

“I'd imagine this would be hard for you,” Jack pointed out the obvious, the twisted part of him joyous at the finding. “Your wife is the most remarkable woman I've ever met and what I respect the most about her is that she is the only one who can make you do things you don't want to.”

 

Jamie pulled back, but only to his haunches, to regard him suspiciously, “I see you've recovered your breath. Shall we then.” He suggested, his head slightly inclined towards the exit to underline his meaning, “can you walk?”

 

“With your help, perhaps,” he allowed, desire to do so and be in close proximities evident from the tone. “We wouldn't want to keep Mrs. Fraser solely on her own devices for very long.”

 

“You leave Claire out of it!” Jamie retaliated, the only part of that suggestive and insulting sentence that was easy to respond to. 

 

Jack sighed, “you don't have to worry. I'm not interested in women, never was.”

 

“Which is why you near raped both my wife an' my sister!” 

 

“I can assure you, neither of them were in any danger of being raped. Shown a little authority, that's another thing, but a woman,” he shrugged, “that could never get me going, not even before your thoughtful surgery of my privates.”

 

Jamie blinked at him, long and contemplative. Jenny did say Jack couldn't get it up and although Claire has come close to it twice, she had never actually been sexually molested to the full extent. “What was all that for then!” 

 

“I had a reputation to keep in front of the armed forces and rumours of me swinging the wrong way to crush, ever think of that?” He leaned closer, consiprationally.

 

“You want to tell me that you let me defend my sister's honour without it ever being in danger?” Jamie scratched his head in aggravation.

 

Jack shrugged, “appearances and all that. But if I haven't done that, I would've never known the wonder that followed in you, now have I.”

 

“Wonder.” the Scot uttered the word with revulsion and some curiosity that could not be helped. Because calling his sufferings 'wonder', was not something that should occur to anyone sane. “I'll get a cart organised at the ready an' then I'll haul yer arse out of my sight,” he promised, standing. 

 

Tbc


	6. Origins

Chapter 6: Origins

 

“Come, man,” Jamie repeated frustrated, for what felt like the hundredth time as they manoeuvred the staircase up to the officers' quarters in the by and large eerily empty Governor's House building at the middle of Edinburgh castle. Getting him to the bottom of the dwelling had been easy enough with the help of the cart, it was these stairs that took them what felt like eternity for Jamie, with Jack stopping every few steps to lean on the wall and looking like he was going to tumble back down to the extent Jamie had no choice but to offer his steady arm, snaked around him to support and catch if needed. The Scot sighed at the snails' pace progress and contemplated the possibility of whether Jack was putting it on or exaggerating his symptoms for the sake of obtaining bodily contact from the man he was infatuated with, but renewed retching sounds made him abandon the concept. “Don't tell me I need to carry ye,” the redhead grumbled, peeking up at the next landing, destination in sight. 

 

Jack swallowed down the rising bile in his throat and kept his mouth firmly closed in a grim line for fear of opening it would result in emptying the rather meagre contents of his stomach still there. Not keen on being seen weak by his favourite adversary at any case, he gathered mental resolve and climbed the remaining stairs with one hand on the wall, Jamie's strong, muscular arm behind him. If he didn't know any better, he would've thought his member was stirring at the intimacy of the touch, but then again, that wasn't possible at all, was it. Lost in the thought of the hypothesis, he barely registered their arrival at his quarters and his own wobbliness when there was no more wall to hang onto. Lacking the support, it was Jamie who manoeuvred him towards a chair on the other side of the room. The younger man caught him too when his knees buckled and practically transported him over the last few feet by dragging Jack's arm over his shoulder, then deposited him non too gently, but still holding out a hand in case the Englishman would fall forwards. The fact that it was eerily quiet registered with them at the same time as they got over the task of getting Jack to destination. 

 

“I shall go an' check,” Jamie tilted his head towards the bedroom. Claire had to be in there, her coat was left right by the door. He didn't have to however, as on his approach, the door slowly, quietly, hesitantly opened. 

 

As opposed to the men not hearing anything coming from her direction, Claire already heard them coming when the cart arrived outside. It took her a long time to get herself together though and ready to face the world, but now she knew she could not delay it any longer. While Jamie had been used to death and the sight of blood, there was no need for him to see what lay before her, no need to visualise how close she herself came to the same fate as the unfortunate young woman here. Bundle in arm, swaddled in a slightly stained pillowcase, she stepped outside, slowly closing the door behind her the same way as she opened it. Her face told the whole story, there was no need for words, yet she said them anyway, “I couldn't save her. I'm sorry,” she said, staring ahead, not looking at anyone in particular. She was lost for further words, and the men were also. 

 

Jack swallowed again, staring expressionless before his gaze slowly lifted to the bundle in her arms, “and the babe?”

 

Claire blinked, as if she had forgotten what she was holding and glanced down repeatedly as she spoke, “oh, he is little, that is true. Perhaps about a month too early. But his heart and lungs sound strong and he fell asleep suckling on a cloth saturated with milk I have given him, so I'm quite sure he will be alright,” she explained, stepping forward hesitantly, not sure if Jack wanted to see the child or what was to be done with it as far as he was concerned. 

 

“A boy then,” he summarised. “Bring him to me.”

 

The nurse leant over by the chair, in a position he could have a good look at his nephew. Jack looked long and hard, at all the child's features and up and down, measuring him up, “he will survive you say,” he wanted to make certain.

 

“With proper care, yes.” She pulled the baby back to her own bosom as he started to squirm and perhaps wake up, “he will need a wet nurse or at least a goat for milking every day and someone to clean, wash and care for him of course..”

 

“I will care for him,” Jack held.

 

Claire involuntarily stepped back one and exchanged a wide eyed look with Jamie. Jack and a baby , could that be a feasible combination in any circumstances? They had been present when he swore to Alex to look after his family, but it was hard to shake the memory that this was the person who had done unspeakable things in the past. Not to mention practicalities that characterised the current situation, with his illness at the brink of a weighty battle. “Give him to me.” The captain's command came, solid and resolute, reminiscent of his old resilence and resolve.

 

The nurse hesitated some more, her movements leisurely as if she would've been playing for time. Finally, she decided there was no harm in handing the child over for the time being and that Jack would not take any frustration out on his beloved brother's son. But her brain had to go over the possibilities at least three times interim. It also registered with her that to an outsider, her movements would've probably looked like as if they were in slow motion. She placed a hand on the baby's tiny head even after letting Jack hold him, reluctant to let go. 

 

“Denys Alexander Randall,” the Englishman directed his words to the child, “as I am, I'd never thought I'd have a son, if in name only. I will take care of you,” he promised. 

 

A shiver went through Claire at the words. Jack had no way of knowing how Frank's family tree looked like, and yet the name was exactly the same as it should've been and if it was so, if this part of history was indeed correct, then perhaps little Denys would be safe with his uncle/putative father.  
“Are you well enough for that?” She questioned, mind drifting back to practicalities.

 

“I'm not generally as weak as today,” he held, all the while staring in curiosity at the small person in his arms as if he would've never seen a baby before, “it was only the rush to get to you that affected me.”

 

Claire nodded slowly, taking in the scene in front of her eyes. It was hard to imagine Jack had a soft side, but she had seen and got to know it first hand over the last few months and it was consistent, at least towards those he chose to extend it to. A look at Jamie however, told her that he was a fair bit less convinced, with good cause, as from where he was standing, the one-eighty turn has been less gradual. In accordance with this experience, he stepped closer to his wife, speaking on a confidential tone, even though it was likely his words would carry further than her ears in the small room, “shouldn't we take the bairn?” Jack's attention and him looking up at the Scot made him add, “just till he's fit to look after the lad, eh?”

 

“For all intents and purposes, he is my son. There are goats at the castle and I know a girl who did errands for Alex, she could look after Denys for me,” Jack established, surefooted, not argumentative. He seemed to be in a strange, passive state that made her think of symptoms of shock. His life was changing, that's for sure. 

 

“Alright,” she put a hand on Jamie's front to halt any further suggestions. It should be enough. It's not as if he cared for any Randalls after all, child or otherwise. “I will let Mary's family know and organise the undertaker.” She offered, and as she wasn't rejected, she added, “where can I find this girl you mentioned? I would think she should start now if she was going to.” 

 

tbc


	7. Adjustmen

Chapter 7: Adjustment

 

Jack rushed to the door as fast as his precarious health allowed, “the maid stepped out and I would appreciate if you didn't wake the baby, corpor...” The words trailed off as it was none of his countrymen who stood in the doorframe. It was someone who he would never expect. None other than his coveted, brawny and unbreakable Scotsman he made his most ardent enemy of, the just as handsome as ever Jamie Fraser.

 

The redhead did not wait for an invitation. Jamie slid inside through the ajar part of the door, closed it behind him and ambled over to the middle of the room, further away from him and regarding the moses basket from a couple of feet away. “The goat's milk is doing him a world of good I see,” he commented on the plumpness of the baby's cheeks, voice adjusted to the situation and mindful of the child. “It looks like he has grown in the space of a few short weeks.”

 

“You still don't trust him being in my care, do you.” Jack established on a sarcastic voice.

 

Jamie turned on his heels to face him, looking him straight in the eyes, “that's not why I'm here. I have been waiting for a while to make sure your maid left. This is not for anyone else's ears.”

 

“I'm afraid I have no more news if that's what you're after.” As Claire had been coming periodically to check on the infant and sometimes asked after and treated the complaints of his belly that still ailed him and all for free, it was a feasible expectation that he should supply them with information coming from the leadership of the English army. 

 

The Scot made a slight incline of his head that could be interpreted as a dismissive gesture. “You can give us nothing else that could change anything in the course of history. But you owe me a favour. Several in fact. I want you to kidnap Claire.”

 

“Excuse me?” Jack couldn't help but furrow his eyebrows. 

 

“I have been trying to postpone going to the Highlands as much as possible and I can't no more. The Prince expects us and April is drawing near. The battle will take place whether I want it or not and my place is with my men, my compatriots, my clan, whether in defeat or victory. But Claire, Claire shouldn't be there. You know how stubborn the lass can be. She thinks she can save me, or save a number of men if she comes, but I can not risk it. She should not die on the battlefield, not ever, and under no circumstances when she's expecting my child, you understand? It is only me who will leave by dawn, right after you kidnap her tonight.”

 

A nerve twitched on Jack's face as he regarded the other man with considerable curiosity, “why me?”

 

“Because it makes the most sense. I can't very well ask any of my men, who feel the duty to be where the fighting is. And it's not like it's new territory to you.”

 

“Besides the absurdity of the situation, I should remind you at this point that your very commendable wife is the hardest person to kidnap and keep in the entire country, and that I came to understand when I had a whole military unit at my disposal and I was in full health.”

 

“You do not need to concern yourself with that, you will be well enough for this task, whatever the state of your health is at the moment. In fact, it will all be set up for you. She has these bottles, with a sweet smell that puts folk to sleep. I'll make sure she has a few sniffs when she's in bed. All you need to do is appear at 4, sharp in the morning and transport her here to the castle vaults and under no circumstances let her go till it is certain she has no time to make it up to the Highlands till April the 16th.”

 

For all the strangeness of the request and the awkwardness of the situation, it was the date that weirded Jack out the most. “April the 16th you say?”

 

Jamie sighed and wondered how he should explain, “Claire, she kens things, about what's to come.”

 

“I'm aware,” Jack assured. 

 

The Scot was somewhat surprised by that, but glad that he didn't need to go into explanations and unlikely stories. “Well then. It's the day of the battle and she can't be there.”

 

“Oh.” Jack realised the reason of his supposed death. “Even if I carry out the request, I am to join my Colonel by Cullen by April the 11th myself.”

 

“I thought you weren't well enough for service,” Jamie looked him up and down in scrutiny. 

 

Jack nodded, inclining his head sidewards a little, “since when was illness where a soldier is able to stand a predicament when being sent into action.”

 

“I've seen you stand. It doesn't last long. You wouldn't make it to Moray alive.”

 

“I beg to differ and so does your wife.” At Jamie's wary look, he added, “Mrs. Fraser thinks I will die on the 16th of April of this year. Incidentally, or perhaps not so much, this is the same day you mentioned earlier.”

 

The finding gave the Scot considerable pause. From what Claire apparently knew of the Randall line, Jack was supposed to die on the battlefield of Culloden, as one of the relatively few casualties of the English side. Thus by asking him to keep Claire back, he would not make it in time for the battle either and that meant that in this case, he would be changing history with the request and the end result would be him saving Jack's life as a side effect. Certainly the opposite of what he would normally go for, but for Claire's sake, it had to be. “You could make the illness look worse and not go.” He could hardly believe he was suggesting that himself. “Do we have an agreement?”

 

“I would risk court marshal for such a deception.” 

 

Jamie grunted in vexation. “Maybe you wish for some sort of additional, advance payment over what my wife has already done for you an' your son to convince you to risk it?” 

 

Jack didn't even think of concealing the change in his breathing the suggestion set off, “I don't suppose you mean monetary gain.”

 

Jamie stood straight, “if it's for Claire's benefit and you give me your word you will keep her back, then take her to Craig na Dun after, I would be willing to provide certain comforts, though it would have to be without violence and on my own terms this time,” he established. Not as if Jack had the appropriate body part functional for coming anywhere near close to a full sexual assault. The thought of his touch was of course just as disgusting, but circumstances guaranteed it will be himself who would stay in charge. 

 

“For Claire,” Jack repeated contemplatively, “always for Claire.” But he couldn't deny that the prospects offered excited him, whether he could prove it with an erection or not. Perhaps they had toys enough between the two of them and dominant Jamie intended to be, Jack still had overt ways to claim him as his. “What do you have in mind?”

 

“Touch?” The Scot grunted out, even though it was the furthest from what he felt like imagining.

 

Jack bobbed his head from side to side slightly, as if weighing the offer. “I knew you would come back to me,” he grinned, “I give you my word that your beloved will be safe with me till April the 16th.” He announced, his old cockiness coming out for a glimpse. “And for whatever you need me to do with her beyond.”

 

“I don't have much time for this,” the red haired man declared. It was the truth, but it also gave him hope of it being his saving grace. 

 

“This needn't be unpleasant,” Jack appeased, somewhat annoyed that Jamie would never give him anything willingly. “Sit,” he nodded at a chair, understanding that he will have to take some sort of lead despite the younger man's bid to stay in control, otherwise they'd get nowhere. “I trust you still follow your country's tradition and wear nothing under,” he knelt in front of the chair once Jamie was seated. His movements were slow however when he placed a hand on the other's knee, slowly inched his way under the kilt and took care to rub up and down Jamie's thighs, taking in the feel of the muscles and the softness of the skin close to the loins, contrast to the strength and resilience the rest of his body's feel suggested. His other hand joining the feast, he pushed the younger man's legs apart and leaned his head to peek under in wonder before he slid the kilt up and out the way of the sight. 

 

Jack should've been jealous, angry or at least frustrated. After all, he was faced with a perfect member, promising in shape and size even flaccid while he himself would've been too ashamed to show to anyone what was left of his, and what happened was at this very man's hands as well. Pushing forward on his knees a little, he surged near for a closer inspection of the goods, his sides touching the strong legs. Completely spellbound by the unexpected treasure he got given access to, his fingers closed around Jamie's cock in his excitement and started light, reverent strokes, making the tip of the penis peek out from the foreskin. Once the head came into play, he paused, thumb attracted to the soft opening he teased. The tactile sensation tickling his fingers filled Jack with lust that swelled in his chest, stirred his belly and contracted his insides with a completely different kind of clinch than his illness and yet his own privates didn't respond. It was the ultimate test of their condition-if being with Jamie didn't make his arousal manifest physically, probably nothing ever would and yet at this moment in time that didn't bother him. Driven by an unshakable desire to lick the tiny opening on the penis of the man he was infatuated with, he used both tongue and hand to work on making that member more alive. Despite Jamie's obvious aversion to the idea that manifested in a still unresponsive cock, Jack wouldn't give up. Touch was what he was granted, so he would touch-the lightly prickling hairs, the taut muscles of Jamie's thighs, the shapely balls, all beautiful and enticing all the while as he took bursts of vigorously pumping at the soft, but now slightly swollen cock and extending his fingers to make rolling motions while holding the other's balls. 

 

Jamie bit the inside of his bottom lip, hard. He had previously closed his eyes to save himself from the sight of who was caressing the entirety of his privates, but now he forced them open to remind himself of that very fact. Because those hands that roamed around, caressing his cock in a gently, almost loving way did not fail to make his flesh respond. Jack was never rough, not when he had him already, his control of him manifesting in situations, rather than violence and manhandling. Jack would make him feel good, and that was the worst of it. Mortifying and abhorrent really, but here they were, fully clothed and without performing a proper sexual act and yet Jack was going to embarrass him all the same. “Ye see fine well it's not going to work, yer only only overexercising yerself in yer condition.” He made a last attempt to salvage the situation and negate the effect those skilful hands were having on him, hands that no doubt helped Jack help himself many times. Jamie was intending to take advantage of the fact that the Englishman was panting from the effort and looked done in, but his voice betrayed him however as it cracked and he had to end the sentence with a hastily indrawn breath. 

 

The other man delighted in the sound as much as the feel of the flesh gorging between his fingers and he tapped the member against them, as if testing their state of erection. While he smirked satisfied, he didn't get distracted enough by the younger man's words to look up, but pulled the foreskin further back as he continued to pump, frequently peppering the performance with an enticing flick of his tongue across the most sensitive parts of the penis, making it harder and harder for Jamie to keep his body from reacting. His cock twitched in Jack's hand, raising to attention, making its intentions clear. Trying keep back from what nature intended was torment and thus Jamie made a semi-conscious decision to allow it.

 

Jack moaned in excitement and then again, as if for and instead of Jamie who would never permit himself to relax enough to do so. No matter, his penis became harder nevertheless and his breathing somewhat erratic, so Jack knew he had him, they both did. As undesirable as this encounter was, his body was responding, erection becoming painful and warm, asking for release, but that engulfing him and heaven forbid, the surely approaching orgasm he felt building, he could not let happen. With a sharp breath, he pushed the other man away and stood, kilt slinging back into place and looking like nothing had happened, bar for his shame flushed cheeks and the struggle to catch his breath. “Claire's not to find out about this,” he fought to keep the tremble out his voice brought on by uncertainties. If this was his assailant, why does his body not know how to react appropriately?

 

“Nothing at all,” Jack collected himself from the ground, somewhere between frustrated with the interruption and satisfied with the results of his ministrations. “Though you should know better than underestimating that woman. With her wits, she will figure it out.”

 

“You had your touch. Do we have an agreement?” Jamie pressed, ignoring everything else. On the one hand, he needed to be out of there immediately and run, and on the other, if Claire worked the specifics of their agreement out, there was nothing he could do about it or any differently at all. He was going to keep her safe and alive and that was that, no matter the price. 

 

“You have my word,” the Englishman assured.

 

“Four o'clock, sharp, be there,” the Scot swung the door open to exit. 

 

Jack remained standing where he was, raising his thumb to his lips to slowly lick the small trickle of pre-cum off of there he cherished like treasure. The sweet taste of another victory. 

 

Tbc


	8. Subverter

Chapter 8: Subverter 

 

Feeling uncomfortable is what rose Claire. Half-awake, she contemplated whether it was Jamie's weight that pressed against her leg, but she ultimately realised that whatever it was, it felt too cold for that. Come to think of it, the softness of her covers and her husband's warmth around her was missing too and it was that unfamiliarity that made her open her eyes, waking to a harsh, bleak and cold reality, where the weight on her leg constituted in shackles and her bed was the hard, stone ground. She recoiled and sat up, instinctively drawing back towards the wall, though equally cold and uncomfortable, where Claire tried to get her bearings and looked into the eyes of the man sitting on a stool without much expression at the other wall at the opposite end the room, barely a few feet away as it were, given the size of what obviously looked like a cell. 

 

"Your husband provided you with blankets, as well as ham and bread enough for a good few meals," Jack inclined his head towards a knapsack within her reach. 

 

Claire only blinked at it before going on the offensive, "what have you done with Jamie!" She seethed. 

 

"Me? Nothing, nothing at all." On the younger man's request he wouldn't say any more about their encounter when Jamie surprised him at the castle, he had given his word. "Your husband merely wants you safe. You and his child," he eyed the baby bump that was starting to be visible even under her woollen mantle somebody has taken care of dressing her into, along with her warmest gown and by the feel of it, warm undergarments too, though she felt reluctant to see for herself while Jack was looking. Who would go to such trouble only to kidnap her? Although the Englishman had done something like this before, making sure he brought a cloak for her when he forced her to follow him and have a conversation in the old abbey. "What do you want with me!" Claire demanded. "And whatever it is, do it fast, cause I've got things to do!" 

 

"I want nothing with you. You are seriously not my type, though if I was inclined that way, you would certainly be my first choice," Jack mused. 

 

"So it is Jamie you're aft, after all. I can't believe it! Given everything we've done for you! Have you no sense of decency at all! One speck?" 

 

"Think woman!" He grunted exasperated, "if I wanted to lure you here, I could've used an illness as an excuse! No, your man was trying to make sure no force was needed and it was certain you didn't get away. Thus the making you unconscious without causing any harm," he explained, "and you will remain unmolested and safe here as requested, Madam." 

 

The puzzling situation was certainly something to think about. "Making me unconscious?" She contemplated out loud, already sure she could detect the undoubtfully nauseating and fruity smell of vitriol on her clothes now that she knew in which direction to look for answers. It was a smell she knew well, that of oleum dulce vitrioli, a compound she sometimes used for anaesthesia, no doubt taken out her very medicine bag. And come to think of it, Jamie had only a few days ago taken special interest in its use. 

 

The devastating conclusion must've been obvious from her fallen face because Jack felt like he needed to defend the decision, for Jamie's sake, "it's for your own good. So you don't throw yourself in battles you can't win while pregnant." 

 

"I should be the one deciding that," she argued still, even though the fight went out of her at the chilly realisation that this was her own Jamie's doing. 

 

Jack seemed amused by the concept, "I have to admit, as I've said the likes before, you are an extraordinary specimen of a woman. Push comes to shove however, still a woman, who's greatest enemy is herself, proven many times by exceeding recklessness and disregard for custom, propriety and authority. A woman who needs to be put in her place once in a while. For having to go to such measures to achieve this, I do not envy your husband."

 

"How dare you! My reckless behaviour saved your life," Claire spat, "me coming in here amongst the enemy, not caring for my own well-being." 

 

"Well then, it will be my reckless behaviour that saves you," Jack countered, "perhaps then we shall call it quits." 

 

"We can never call it quits!" The time traveller was getting really aggravated now. "Where is Jamie!" 

 

"On his way to wherever the Pretender and his pretend army are playing gathers." 

 

The pejorative language stopped Claire for a moment from being completely engulfed in her own situation, "you don't even regard the Jacobites a serious threat," she deadpanned. Of course she knew about the Scottish side's disadvantages, from history and currently, mostly from Jack himself, but the English government was trying to enlarge their forces in somewhat of a panic only a few months ago. 

 

Jack sighed, "I suppose a little more espy tidings will do neither of us much harm. You see, your Swedish allies haven't sent as many troops as their old king promised before he died. And seemingly, Charles has angered more Highlanders as well with his lies and plight to take England as well, more than initially thought. There won't be much more than five thousand men for him to command. That is partly why I'm so sure of victory. The other part comes from you." 

 

"How so." Claire was defensive and reluctant. Has she dropped more hints of the future than she had thought? 

 

"I do not know exactly what you are, witch or oracle, but I have been in your company enough to know to take your words seriously whenever your husband also does. And based on his hints this morning, you foretold the demise of the Jacobites, along with his, and mine, on that battlefield."

 

The brunette in chains didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Her and Jamie's intentions was to change history, the ocurrence or outcome of the rising, or at the very least, to save the Frasers. Instead, the only person's life that was going to be saved was their arch enemy's. And the hardest thing to believe about it all was, "Jamie wouldn't leave me with you out of all people. He could've hired someone to kidnap me, order or ask one of his men. Fergus for instance, it isn't his battle, anyone." 

 

Jack gave her an amused look, "and they would've been able to keep you if you were anywhere else but the castle vaults?" He stood, point made as conclusion as far as he was concerned, "I can bring more blankets, items from your medicine bag if needed, and I will provide you with the best foodstuff I have access to. Anything else, you only need to ask." 

 

"No," Claire shook her head, exasperated, "I can't believe this," she raised desperate eyes at Jack, "not without a good bye," she mumbled, hand going to her baby bump. It shouldn't surprise her Jamie tried to protect her, in her heart of hearts she knew it was him and she also knew her stubbornness would leave him no other choice. Not caring for once about showing weakness in front of the man she at one time thought the most evil of the century, she folded backwards onto the hay that served as a bed and gave a chocked sob. Her fight to escape wasn't over, but she was allowed a moment of despair. 

 

Tbc


	9. Modification

Chapter 9: Modification 

 

Jack eyed the substantial portion of casserole he held a plate of, hoping Claire would accept it. It contained after all, the heartiest assemblage of cooked meats he could put his hands on for a while and also, some of the ingredients the woman had been many of preaching about, like radishes, carrots, onions and other vegetables necessary to prepare the delicacy. His prisoner hadn't been eating much to start with, but after Jack got hold of the list of Scottish names of people executed after the battle of Culloden, it was even less she would take. It affected the Englishman of course as well. James Fraser, Laird Broch Tuarach, the document said, it was hard to miss and he knew it wasn't his illness that made his knees go weak and his chest constrict at the sight. There were only losses and losses these days, but perhaps at least the certainly of her husband's death will make it easier persuading Claire without having to use force to follow Jamie's wish and let herself be taken to Craigh na Dun, whatever the reason for that request was. Jack was in no mood to fight her, even if his physical stamina would've been sufficient. He thus stalled for a few days, letting things settle, gathering strength for the journey. Now he was setting the plate down on the table, "it had gotten a little cold on the way here. You know where the kitchens are and the wretched Scottish weather hasn't been notified it is supposed to be May." 

 

Claire half raised her gaze, her hunger getting the better of her at the pleasant smell, so unusual in the vaults that filled the room. Was that really chicken and how did Jack find someone who was aware of using potatoes the right ways here in Scotland? Her curiosity must've been showing on her face because Jack remarked, "your unborn child is showing interest and you'd be better indulging them because tomorrow we set off to Craigh na Dun and I can't promise you any luxuries. What I can promise you is that I will deliver you in safety there." 

 

"Safety at Craigh na Dun?" Claire commented, even though she knew he was not aware of the full implications. However, she pulled closer on the bench and grabbed the spoon to wolf some of that delicious food down. It was quite a waste not tasting every morsel properly, but she discovered she was indeed very hungry given how the smell got her undone. Clearly, that was exactly Jack's intent with the presentation, but she could not find it in herself to care about being sort of tricked. 

 

"Your husband seemed to think you would be," Jack contemplated, "though I can't fathom why. I don't remember it being innocuous," he referenced the moment of their first meeting, her appearing in what he thought were undergarments and his reaction to finding a lady in a vulnerable position. 

 

The spoon froze in Claire's hand, but then she decided that was another thing she could hardly care about at the moment. There was her feeling of numbness and grief at losing Jamie and then there were the bodily needs that sometimes she had no control over penetrating the mist of her despondency. Above that, it all simply washed over her. "It's all coming full circle then is it." Her contemplative brain remarked, without the rest of her being feeling like it was taking part in the conversation or was at all present.

 

"You have nothing to fear from me," Jack promised. 

 

"I've gathered as much. One poke with a finger to your belly and you'll crumble, believe me, I know where to push." 

 

Jack made a face that was somewhat reminiscent of a wince, "why do you think I stayed far back from you." He rolled his eyes, "which brings me to the issue of transporting you a hundred and sixty miles against your will. Is there any chance you are actually going to honour your husband's last wishes?" 

 

Claire blinked up at him startled. Did he have to put it like that? There was no way she was going to leave this time and era if there was a chance Jamie was alive. The list Jack showed her had been proof, evidence she was unwilling to accept, too shaken by the shock of it and too wound up in denying. "Culloden is not far off our supposed destination. I want to say good bye, find my husband's grave, and if he is indeed dead, then there's nothing else for me in this realm." 

 

Her captor nodded at that solemnly. He wouldn't expect anything else from this particular woman, who was not the squeemish or the theatrical kind and he wouldn't do it differently himself. "Deal," he stood to get ready and was about to depart when a thought made him pause, "nothing else for you in this realm you say. That isn't exactly an agreement to head to Craigh na Dun or is it?" 

 

"Yet that's exactly what it is." Claire established, not in the mood for explanations. 

 

Jack narrowed his eyes, "you're not intending to do anything foolish?" He made a vague gesture towards her protruding belly, all the more obvious since she ate less. "That is Jamie's child you're carrying." He sounded fierce, protective and provocative. 

 

"You're not to say his name!" The brunette snapped, "it was the agreement!" 

 

"I wasn't aware the agreement stood after his death," he challenged, aloof, as if he didn't care about that particular unfortunate development regarding the Scot. 

 

"We don't know he's dead," Claire clung to the hope. 

 

"You, I didn't take for delusional, Madam," Jack commented. Her response wasn't one he expected, nor were her actions of late. 

 

To top it off, Claire gave a hysterical laugh, “you think me delusional now, try hearing the truth about who I am!”

 

Jack raised a quizzical eyebrow and sauntered back, interests heightened, “I had been trying to get you to tell me that since the first time we met if you remember.”

 

Claire looked at him ruminative, long and intense, a world at war just behind her misty eyes. She needed this. She needed this like a traveller needed water when lost in the desert. With Jamie and Murtagh most likely gone, there was nobody who she could imagine would have the slightest chance of believing her, not without first hand knowledge behind the tale. But Jack had possibly possessed enough personal experience for her story to make sense. While she did not give a toss about his sympathy if he was at all capable of the sentiment, she was desperate not to be alone at least with the burden of knowledge. “Bring a couple of bottles of good whiskey. I'll tell you everything.”

 

tbc


	10. Noesis

Chapter 10: Noesis

 

Jack rubbed his belly, rather annoyed by the fact that it indeed proved that as he had thought, drinking whiskey would upset the precarious balance of his intestines. The smug expression on Claire's face and the alcohol amplified glint in her eyes told him that the healer was clearly aware of his predicament too, which for a moment, made him contemplate whether her call for the drink and her insistence for them to drink together was a part of some sort of plan, to escape, or at least delay their departure. But as long as she still wore the shackles, the possibility was quite unlikely. 

 

“Crohn's disease,” Claire tilted her glass indicatively towards her companion, “that's what they will call what you have. It's not unusual for an acute, severe, gastroenteric illness to be the trigger for its appearance. Basically, lesions inside your digestive system that will not heal. Modern medicine can usually make it manageable with the use of antibiotics and anti-inflammatory drugs.” At Jack's quizzical expression, she added, “of course you won't know many of these words, not many will, not for another couple of hundred years.”

 

“If your vision into the future is that specific, Madam, you are indeed unique,” Jack gave appreciation when it was due.

 

Claire shook her head, sighing, “psychic or witch, that's all anyone supposes of me. Can there be no other explanation that occurs to anyone?” The woman complained. Narrowmindedness was one of the few things she really didn't appreciate in this era. 

 

Jack raised his eyebrows a little, but responded without missing a beat, “not unless you claim to have travelled here from a different world.”

 

The offhand comment that rang close to the truth startled Claire so much that she set her glass down, “whatever do you mean by that?”

 

“Have you read Gulliver's Travels?” He remarked conversationally, “and then there was this Irish friend of my brothers', a certain clergyman of the name of Samuel Madden who once gave me a copy of his satire, Memoirs of the Twentieth Century. He has some interesting ideas about how messages can get to us from the future. Of course, both of those are fiction.”

 

Claire remained a little baffled and thus relatively slow in her answer. Their previous conversations weren't of the affable, laid-back nature and while she was well aware of the fact that Jack was not only smart, but well-educated, capable of objective thought and a critical perspective of religious concepts, she could not know he had contemplated the concept of time travel before. “I am aware of Gulliver's Travel, but not of these Memoirs you talk about. Please Captain, tell me more.”

 

“Not surprising you haven't heard of them. Due to their provocative nature against certain religious affiliations, I believe my brother Alex said that most copies were destroyed by the writer himself. Interesting how there's no risk when discussing such things with you though,” he mused, “and not just that, but you will understand.” 

 

“You don't believe in the teachings of the church,” Claire established. He had hinted at being at odds with doctrine before, so it wasn't a question, just a statement of fact that intrigued her. It was very rare in the eighteenth century for someone to show independent thinking and that was one thing she had always appreciated about Jack and would've served as a basis for a good relationship between them if circumstances were different. 

 

“Let's just say that darkness recognises a similar evil. Though I've got to say, that my evil is nothing compared to the pain our loving deity purposefully unleashes on the world only to feel in power. However Madam, we are not here to discuss my spiritual views, not unless it has something to do with your visions of the future.”

 

Claire licked her lips. The whiskey provided was indeed good and with Jack indisposed, she had more than a fair share of it, sufficient for her to feel like she could go ahead with her unlikely tale that never gotten easy to make believable. So it was best just to get on with it, “there's a portal that allows time travel at Craigh na Dun. I have no idea how it works, my appearance in this century was entirely by accident and I have no idea if I can go back either, but that is what it seems like Jamie wants me to try, go back to my own time, be safe there, deliver this baby safe.”

 

Jack looked at her long, contemplative, never doubtful till one of his eyebrows raised a little, in question, “and what century would that be?”

 

“The twentieth.” 

 

The captain nodded, “it is a fair assumption indeed that I would've never believed your story during the interrogation.” 

 

“But you believe me now?”

 

“Yes. It all makes sense now, your knowledge, the way you conduct yourself, so different than any of the women I have ever met. Madam, this will be the most intriguing journey I have ever undertaken if you indulge me with details of this world in the future on the way. But first, you must sleep,” he snatched the whiskey bottle out of her reach and stood, “as I have no intention of going back on promises I make.”

 

tbc


	11. Vallate

Chapter 11: Vallate

 

It was the second time Claire tripped on the uneven terrain. The spring made the grass grow high all around the standing stones of Craigh na Dun, which apart from making her having to concentrate on her footing, it also made it impossible to see the place where she left the wagon where she had said good bye to Jack with a simple nod. Perhaps it was more than he deserved, because he was surely not helping her out of the kindness of his heart, there had to be a price, one that Jamie paid, she knew that. Her mind however was in such an emotional turmoil that each and every matter was hard to consider. All throughout her trip to the eighteenth century, circumstances dictated that she had to be strong, fight for herself, then to be Jamie's shoulder to lean on, through losing a child and a whirlwind of events and tribulations that never left enough time to step back or have a breakdown. 

 

Now Jamie was gone however, a fact proven to her after the two days they've spent looking for a grave with the Frasers' name on it by the battlefield, during which Jack became exceedingly ill with a remission of his enteric disease to the extent they had to acquire the waggon to travel forward with. 

 

Claire held her palms to the stone she knew she came through time at. What she was doing was out of a sense of duty, dues to Jamie and their unborn child, yet in the strange numbness that signified that her grief ran so deep that everything else became meaningless compared to it, she did not even have an emotional response to time travel not happening this time. Instead, she simply gathered herself and made her way back to the cart she knew must still be sitting where she had left it. The condition Jack was in, he would probably not be going anywhere for a time. And while that didn't particularly concern her, she felt a pang of guilt when hearing the laments of baby Denys like any expectant mother would at that sound, who they have had to take on the journey with them given both their financial situations. 

 

Wordlessly, she climbed aboard and snatched the leather pouch they used for feeding the infant and let him suckle at the small amount of goat's milk that was still in it. That will need refilled on a farm somewhere in the proximity. Thankfully, it was enough to put the baby to sleep for the time being, so she placed Denys on the bed of straw they've made for him in the back and shuffled over to Jack, who had been silently watching her as he lay in sweat and curled up around his belly. No words were necessary to tell of her failure, but it seemed like the ill man wanted to be sure. “You did try?” He questioned, forehead creasing. 

 

“It is a possibility I may never get back to my own time,” Claire said without much feeling as she touched Jack's forehead. He didn't seem to have much of a fever, indicating that the flare up wasn't exceedingly serious and a cluster of infection didn't take hold, so the sweat would be from the pain he presumably had considerable of. Laudanum they've ran out of a long time ago and she wasn't entirely sure of the use of saffron in this case. “I've seen a house about a mile back,” she changed subject without giving much consideration to the last two issues, “for a babe without a mother, people usually spare some milk,” she hoped, even if times were harsh around the Highlands at this time. 

 

“You've given up what we came for?” Jack questioned her on a harsh, interrogative tone. 

 

“What do you care.”

 

“The Frasers,” he grinned, “if nothing else, anybody would have to admit, you are the most captivating people they've ever encountered. What can I say, I am invested in the tale.”

 

“The tale is that I am going to ensure the survival of an ancestor I am invested in,” she gathered her skirts to climb up to the reins. “Abject side effect, that he might need a father for that, at least in name. We cannot wait here forever for a miracle. I will take you back to Edinburgh.”

 

Jack sat up slowly, taking care not to further jostle his belly besides the unfortunate bouncing the moving cart and leaned on the side of it, close enough for them to hear each other talking over the horse's trotting, without having to raise their voices too much and wake the infant. “Did you think the army had in mind to keep me, invalid as I am?”

 

Claire couldn't help but glance back at him, startled. Of course if she would've thought about it, if she would've had the presence of mind to think about anything, she would've figured out herself that Jack would be let loose. “What will you do? Where will you raise Denys?” The brunette vocalised the question that fought to raise to some importance in her brain at least. “How will he be taken care of?”

 

“Will I be alive long enough for my contribution to even matter that way,” Jack mused.

His travelling companion looked back at him contemplatively, “I do not know,” she said in earnest, “you were supposed to die at Culloden.”

 

“Funny how that works.”

 

Claire looked back at him again, distracted from the road, but she did not detect any of his smirk or a sign that he would've said that maliciously. So she nodded a few times, despondent. “Well, I wouldn't give you very long to live with your illness if you didn't have someone who knows what they're dealing with looking after you. Most of what today's physicians call medicine and treatment is largely harmful.”

 

“Fortunate for me you are so invested in the Randalls' well-being.”

 

This time, she couldn't miss the sarcasm in his voice. “I have told you my reasons.”

 

“A man who looks like me, who you hope to get back to.” He said in wonder, somewhat amused. 

 

“None of your business. However, I would be grateful if you told me your destination, so I can deposit the both of you in safety and be on my way.”

 

Jack sighed wearily. This was a moment where he had to admit weakness, but did that even matter anymore with this woman? She had already seen him in the most vulnerable of positions. “Sussex.” It sounded defeated, he knew that, and there was no chance Claire would not know the reason. He will have to go home to the family estate owned by his older brother and hope that he will be gracious enough to help because he himself has no position or funds left. Not that they were ever on good terms or that he would like anybody's pity for being an invalid. “I am quite certain they won't throw out the boy when I'm dead.”

 

Claire nodded to herself. Yes, it seemed like the best plan for Denys under the circumstances. Maybe he wouldn't have the most loving childhood, but he could still meet someone called Sarah Denholm as he should've and continue establishing the blood line Frank stemmed from. And in that case, she wouldn't even have to consider Jack's well-being. Pursing her lips, she looked back at him once more, her analytical mind assessing him automatically without her conscious control. He appeared paler than a few minutes ago, perhaps due to the movement and his breathing was more erratic too. “You need to lie back down, Jack,” she found herself saying, though she couldn't quite fathom why she would care.

 

tbc


	12. Agency

Chapter 12: Balanced

 

Jack was brought to awareness by that fact that it was way too calm and quiet around him, with none of the cart's creaks, Denys' complaints or gurgles to be heard. Had Claire left him again to find foodstuff or offer up her services as a healer to anyone who may have required it on the way, in return for money they desperately needed for the road? But weren't they close to destination already? He was pretty sure that his travel companion has mentioned Guildford Castle the day before and the family estate by Cuckford wasn't much more than a day away. If he could be at all sure of anything that was, with him being in and out of consciousness with fever and weakness most of the time of late, due to no access to appropriate diet and proper rest as they travelled, according to Claire. He could hear seagulls and make out the shape of lush green hills from where he lay, but unless he moved, he would not be able to figure out their precise location. As uninviting as the prospect of seeing his stingy brother and his judgemental wife was, all he wished for right now was a bed and the possibility to lie on it for at least a week and that really wasn't much to ask for. 

 

Cautiously and slowly, he loosened the hold he had on his belly, straightened his legs a little just as carefully and pushed himself up into a sitting position only to be faced with the sight of a pale and motionless Claire, minus skirts, but with undergarments soaking in blood. Jack glanced around in panic, but spotted Denys further back, little arms whirling the air, content with fingering the canvas of the wagon beside him. First worry settled, the Englishman scrambled over on his hands and knees to the woman and startled to shake her, “Madam. Mrs. Fraser. Claire. Please, open your eyes.” His shaking not being effective, he located the medicine bag. Recognising the smelling salts wasn't too hard and he found he was thankful they seemed to be working. 

 

Claire came to consciousness gradually. Her head moved first, her fists clenched, the cramping registered and then the memory and awareness of what was happening, where she was. The pain showing on her face was equal part physical and emotional. She was reluctant to open her eyes. While she felt the blood sticking to her thighs, she knew that it would be even more agonizing to see it with her own eyes, for what it meant. 

 

“Claire. What can I do?” Frank's kind voice reached her blood loss induced, foggy brain, but she did have the presence of mind to remember that it couldn't have been Frank. It was Jack who kept prodding, not letting her go back to blissful oblivion. “What medicine can I give you?”

 

The man's insistence was annoying and she wanted it to stop. She shook her head, “there's nothing you can do. It's too early. I'm losing this child, just like I lost the other one.” Claire clenched her teeth as a contraction ripped through her.

 

“Something needs to be done about the bleeding,” Jack established without having to glance at her nether regions again. He'd seen fatal blood loss in the line of duty many times before and this wasn't much different. “What can I do?” He repeated. 

 

Her shake of the head was weaker this time and he had to wait till the wave of pain passed till she could answer, “nothing, Captain, nothing.” 

 

“I refuse to believe that! How can such a thing occur! You were entirely fine hours ago! I will get the horse moving. My family's estate isn't far, I will recognise the way. Lavinia will think of something,” he held, somewhat dumbfounded himself that he based his hopes on his despised sister-in-law, “she's had like six-seven children, I can't remember.” 

 

“They can't help,” Claire found herself wishing for Mother Hildegarde and Master Raymond for a fleeting moment. But those were different times. While it all seemed hopeless at the time, it wasn't much compared to the sorrow and weariness she felt now, with Scotland and Jamie lost and the logistics of time travel evading her. “I will die,” she established without much emotion.

 

“Well, excuse you woman, but that isn't what I'd promised to your husband!” Jack racked through his long hair, looking rather unsettled. He had been faced with the issue of mortality so often these days, his own, and of those around him and he was losing so often too, it was immensely frustrating. 

 

His expression puzzled Claire. She didn't have time to contemplate however, as another contraction hit. What she did realise was that there was not even a minute between contractions so she must've been lying passed out for most of her labour. Perhaps a blessing in disguise, but as she wasn't gone just yet, she was suddenly faced with the chilling prospect of probably seeing her dead child before she passed on herself. The thought disquieted her, shook her out the despondency of accepting her own death, due to one more emotional upheaval she didn't feel she could take, a trauma she did not want to go through. She grabbed for the hand of the only other person around, “it's coming,” she panted. “The baby is coming. I don't want to see it. Take it away from me, you understand?” She begged desperately, upper body curling up in an involuntary push. 

 

Jack paused, as if assessing her mental abilities at this time. Then he nodded with a minor wince her iron grip clinched round his fingers caused. “You have my word,” he finally offered, a gesture he now apparently often extended towards the Frasers. He waited once more till her body seemed to loosen up a little and asked again, “what would a midwife do at this time?” He reformulated his earlier question, “what would you do if you were with someone in your state?” It wasn't like him to give up, despite her apparent disinclination to answer. 

 

“We couldn't do anything for Mary either.”

 

“You want it away, so how can that be done as quickly as possible?” He changed tack. 

 

“Look down. Help it out if it's stuck,” she hissed, obviously not at rest from contractions for many a moment and forgetting to let go of his hand. 

 

Jack manoeuvred himself round somewhat, then shuffled back to put a pile of hay under her head and behind her back. This way she could still hang onto him while he operated below if it was necessary. He took another pause before lifting and pushing her undergarments out the way-if he would've had any inclination towards being straight, he was sure that would dissipate at this very moment. 

 

The scene wasn't anything he expected however-all feminine features were forgotten and disregarded as under a sheet of blood, he saw the tip of a little head peeking into view if he looked close enough. “I can't help you just yet. You need to push first,” he informed her with urgency, not that he had to. In the midst of contraction after contraction, she was doing just that. At a loss for what else he could do, Jack pulled her body forward as she hang onto him, helping her bear down. In a shower of screams by Claire and a string of curses by Jack, the head and shoulders pushed through. Jack reached for it, at the ready, pausing when Claire did to take a few, gasping breaths. In the lull, her eyes closed and she went limp, proving just how lifeless by letting his hand go and flopping back. There was no more effort she could possibly make. 

 

Deciding it became his task to carry out what he'd promised her, he would pull the child that was killing her out of her. Mother nature however, had other plans. The same as her contractions had been progressing while she was passed out, the last one took care of itself as well and all that remained for Jack to do is to catch the infant, dazed and surprised and stunned. It, or more accurately, she was small right enough, but as far as he could tell, she had all faculties necessary, including hair and was moving, breathing, mewling, not much different than Denys had been. 

 

Practicalities came to him quick enough. He wrapped the child in a shawl and checked the container with his putative son's milk. There would be enough in there for the two of them till tonight, he could maybe even make it home till then and won't as much as have to leave the cart. He covered Claire too, for the lack of something better to offer and only then he sat back on his haunches, weirded out by the situation of how he out of all people ended up in this position and what he was supposed to do with two infants and a dying woman in his care.

 

Tbc


	13. Gypsy

Chapter 13: Gypsy

 

Concentrating on the directing the horse and landmarks to find the quickest route to the country estate, Jack made sure he cast frequent glances back at the three helpless human beings he had in his care. Denys, miraculously, had slept through the whole ordeal, the tiny babe joined him after being given to suck on a little milk. Claire he did not tend to, he did not know how. It wasn't as if there was an obvious way he could stop an internal blood flow and also, he dared to kindle the flicker of hope that with the disgusting mess that followed out of her after the child, it may have stopped on its own. Checking however, he did not care for and would've been a waste of the precious time they had till twilight, while he could still judge and negotiate his way on dirt tracks, based on memories of daytrips into nearby towns during his childhood. 

 

His next glance back was routine as well, but this time, Claire's dazed eyes stared at him warily, probably without seeing him in the earnest. Jack nevertheless, yanked the horse's reigns to make them halt and scrambled over to the weakened woman, having important things to tell her, "Claire," he shook her to some sort of awareness where she raised her gaze at him. She was breathing shallow, and appearing abject and indifferent to her own condition however, already at a different plane of existence, where nothing else worldly mattered, a state Jack had often seen with soldiers gravely injured and succumbed to their fate. He had to get her to concentrate, interact first, if she was to understand what he had to say. Looking around for anything to help him at the task, he grabbed one of the horse blankets currently not in use and manoeuvred it under her legs and bottom half, turning her round to her side in the process, "it cannot be comfortable in all that stickiness," he explained, wincing at his own rather inadequate description of the pool of blood.

 

Claire blinked withal, movement and encouragement to engage in conversation raising her out her catatonic state for a moment, to the extent of her focussing on him and for recognition to set in. A weak hand reached the sleeve of his shirt, "thank you," she whispered, sincere and grateful, the simple words acknowledging her whole appreciation of how he'd handled the situation and exceeded any expectations she might've had of him. But then again, near death experiences, their own and of others around them, tended to change people. His darkness was largely in hiding, probably thanks to Alex and he would take good care of Denys, she was sure of that. She could die in peace knowing that some two hundred years later, her and Frank will meet in the future, a piece of her life that abstractly has both already played out and was to come. Her eyes closing in that peace of mind, she became vaguely aware that Jack was still shaking her, talking to her, but words she could not hear now, not even when she she opened her eyes at his insistence and saw his mouth moving.

 

"Frank..." She breathed out, orbs glassy with tears, so ready to see him in that other life. But Jack wouldn't leave her alone. What did he want? What could she possibly offer him in this state? He was pushing something towards her, a bundle. Denys needed something? His insistence and her care for the boy's welfare made her focus a little.

 

"Your babe. You child. Liveborn. It's a girl. Do you want to hold her?"

 

The world was tilting on its axis continuously, so could she have heard it right? "Mmmmm," she made what felt like mammoth effort to move her head and blink away the fogginess of her blurry eyes. A little crinkly baby, a lot smaller than Denys was by now, small tuft of hair at her forehead, miniature fingers waving in the air for purchase. Claire swallowed and found some strength in the realisation presented to her to raise her head this time, which Jack helping her along by repositioning her on the hay, child set down beside her.

 

The flood of emotion almost buried her at once. "She is alive?" It was hard to believe. The only explanation was that she had possibly been wrong about the time of her conception, and in that case, the baby was only slightly premature and so, most likely, possibly if she could get herself to believe it, viable.

 

"Healthy," he assured her, "as far as I can tell, midwifery not being a skill I have," he jested. "Though she hasn't cried much," he said dubiously.

 

"They don't all do," Claire found her voice, hand moving to caress her daughter. She wasn't able enough for much movement, she found and her palm settled on the baby's chest, but it was enough, she could feel her strong heartbeat, her taking breaths. For a long moment, she could only stare, tears of joy mixing with tears of the realisation that she will not be there for her and the only person she could entrust with her life was...Claire raised her eyes at Jack slowly, all her usually used air of control around him turning into complete and utter desperation. "Jack..." She started, formalities between them long forgotten. Claire was not sure under what circumstances of any godgiven situation would what she was going to beg for in any way appropriate, or wise.

 

"Madam," he responded very seriously nonetheless, "I have personally recovered from similar blood loss. You will too."

 

Claire shook her head. However inviting the sight of her daughter, she had to close her eyes for a moment to rest before establishing firmly, "I don't think so Captain and I am the expert."

 

Jack nodded at her solemnly, "in that case, please allow me to make another promise. These two babes," he gestured back to include Denys, "will arrive to the family estate as cousins. One I will claim to be mine and one I will claim to be my brother Alex's lawfully born child, like he should and could've been, which will provide them with a roof over their heads, nourishment and tuition till they are able to provide for themselves."

 

"Why would you do that?" Claire found it hard to understand and she was quite sure it wasn't just the blood loss.

 

"Don't you understand, Madam?" Jack seemed emotional to the extent his eyes sparkled, "you, your husband, the man I loved, he has given me the greatest gift there could be left of him, a piece of him, his child. The most precious thing in the world, and I will cherish and honour the memory through her." 

 

Claire's weakness induced shakes intensified. There was something terrifyingly wicked in what he had just said. The way he perceived the concept of love, it could be poison. If her child would have been a boy, she was certain in that moment, that she would've smothered that baby herself on the spot if it was the last thing she had done. Her offspring wasn't to be Jack's replacement-Jamie-toy. But Jack was homosexual, which with his admission and circumstantial evidence, she did not doubt at least. Her daughter, as much as anyone, would be safe. So she finally settled on another breathless "thank you." A last stroke of the baby's arms, just in the reach of her fingers maybe she could manage before she went.

 

"Claire." Jack seemed to call her now on her given name as well at times when it really mattered, "what should be the name of the child?" He still didn't let her give in to exhaustion.

 

"Jamie wanted it to be Brian," she managed. "But it's a girl," Claire was somewhat at a loss. She never dared to think about names, dubious that any one of them would make it as far as that.

 

"Brianna then," the corners of Jack's mouth curved to something akin to a smile, coming to her rescue. Brianna. Brianna Randall it shall be, and that was alright. The last thing her brain still registered was those little newborn digits finally finding purchase, something to hang onto. One of Jack's large, rough fingers.

 

Tbc


	14. Domestics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "My...my husband?" Claire questioned, eyebrows furrowing.

Chapter 14: Domestics

 

Strange the things that can raise you to consciousness, Claire contemplated while resurfacing. Something was heavy, lying on top of her. It was making her welcomingly warm, yet it also felt suffocating. She pushed at it before she opened her eyes, and found it soft and surprisingly pleasant to the touch. A patterned quilt it appeared to be, with fine patchwork and embroidery, obviously the work of someone very skilled at what they were doing. But before she could make sense of it all and look further, a strong, confident voice startled her.

 

"Well, there you are. I would've preferred to meet my sister-in-law in circumstances more favourable than these," the solemn woman sitting straight on a chair by her bedside intoned, "I am Lady Randall, the dame of Litlington House."

 

"Uh," Claire managed, confused beyond baffled. From how she'd imagined her on the basis of Jack's half sentences describing her, the person before her could not be anyone else than Lavinia, William Randall's wife. None of this mattered to her however, nor what she was talking about, "my daughter..." the invalid looked around frantically, though she could hardly whisper or raise her head off the pillow.

 

"The children are with the wet nurse I had in my employment for my Harvey. I have also sent into town for another one because Betty cannot possibly feed three infants on her own."

 

Claire nodded, panting from the effort and the emotional upheaval, what came with taking it all in. The treatment the children got must've been really liberal from the Randalls, who according to Jack, weren't the most generous. She was grateful at any case, "thank you..." She whispered, overwhelmed, only just realising and dealing with the fact that she was alive when she shouldn't have been. "Could I please see her?" Brianna was still her main focus however.

 

Lavinia waved her off, "sure, in time. Now you need to drink," she raised a cup with refreshing, cold water to Claire's lips with a no nonsense attitude. "You were very fortunate not to develop a fever, but you must gain some strength before any further strain and anxiety." While the water was very welcome, the advice was not. If she was to go by eighteenth century medicine that blamed half the illnesses on emotional states, it could be a week before they let her close to her child.

 

"I will get the servants to bring you some soup," the patronising continued. Lavinia sounded more self-assured and condescending than caring, but for now, Claire decided to assume that a positive emotion was there behind her actions, otherwise why care for a stranger? "Hopefully you will have more luck with it than your husband," the lady of the house rose to act as she'd mentioned.

 

"My...my husband?" Claire questioned, eyebrows furrowing.

 

Lavinia mistook the question as her asking for her husband's welfare. "Johnny carried you inside in his arms, scaring the living daylights out of all of us with all that blood and then collapsing himself. We thought you were ghosts, neither of you had more colour than a candlestick!" She made the sign of a cross quickly, her stoic expression changing for the first time to show the flicker of affright the typically superstitious womenfolk of the century customarily displayed, be that noblewoman or maid.

 

"Johnny...my husband..." The younger woman mumbled, trying to get her muddled head round what had transpired. So that was why Lavinia cared, because Jack told them she was his wife.

 

"He will be happy to hear you awakened, he is in the room adjacent. We thought it best to nurse you separately, so you can get the rest you need. I will come back to see how you're doing later. I hope one of you will finally tell me how this marriage came about and I'm betting on you as Johnny hasn't been forthcoming so far. A tale of love it must be as he wasn't supposed to marry a widow with no dowry or inheritance because of his position you see." Lavinia intoned flippantly on her way out.

 

Claire shrank back, avoiding eye contact and gave a big sigh when left alone. How was she supposed to come up with a love story with Jack until later that day? The whole idea of it was upsetting, ludicrous, unwanted and crazy! The worst thing about it was that her rational mind justified Jack's lies and certified his good intentions but that only infuriated her more. How dare he make a good go at atoning his sins against her, they ran so deep it was an insult him trying. She was still fuming about the very thing when her furious tornado of thoughts was interrupted by a firm, but hesitant knock on the door. With some difficulty, Claire pushed herself up on her pillows and tucked her anger just below the surface, "come in!"

 

Jack let himself in and advanced slowly, posture somewhat hunched as he made his way to the chair his sister-in-law had earlier been sitting on. He was wearing a greyish dark yellow, ugly dressing gown and a pair of old, patented and golden embroidered slippers with higher heels than customary for the time period, which made him appear a little out of time as well. If circumstances were different, she could've laughed at the expense of his attire, but repressed anger boiled over instead, "what is this with me being your wife!" She demanded as ferociously as her current state of health allowed.

 

"A good day to you too Madam," he disregarded her outburst as if nothing would have happened, "though I suggest we call each other on our Christian names when around people on the estate and we should probably practice for it too,” he suggested. They'd been alternating between formal and informal for months, depending on how they've felt at the time. 

 

Claire gave a headgesture that Jack knew meant she was in no mood for pleasantries. “Do you remember what I have told you on the way here?” Jack relented. “That I will claim your daughter as mine? And you had plans to die haven't you, perhaps with thoughts of the conundrum serving me right to pay for my transgressions till I pass on as well as you claim, with nobody in the know what to do about my illness in this day and age?

 

The brunnette pursed her lips, “perhaps.”

 

“Well, how do you suppose the plan would work with you alive? If Brianna is my daughter, the you cannot be anything else than my wife. You have the ring to prove it too,” he nodded at the shiny golden band on her finger, with the name Randall engraved inside. “Apparently, I have been spoiling you with that one.”

 

Once again, Claire was mesmerised by the two wedding rings on her fingers. Frank, a distant memory, Jamie as a burning sear in her chest. If he was dead, then she was no more a bigamist, only someone who is now pretended to be married without having been consulted on the matter. “With me alive, your plan is null and void. I will take care of my child, there's no need for you,” she looked him up and down fiercely, in a deprecating manner. “Hand over my daughter,” she pulled herself up on the pillows, out of puff and feeling like she needed to close her eyes for a moment. 

 

Jack pulled back a little, somewhat bewildered. Not as if he didn't expect her to be feisty, that wouldn't be Claire, but sometimes it would've been more convenient if the woman saw sense once in a while. “I will go and get her right now. However, I believe it would be advisable, for your and the child's sake, it you stayed till you have sufficiently recovered and has devised some sort of plan on where and how are you supposed to provide for her.” He established firmly and walked towards the door, slower than Claire would've liked. She wanted nothing more at this moment than to see her baby safe and sound with her own eyes, but the way Jack was going, leaning on a cane and on the doorframe when he reached it, it might be a while. Maybe she should take the chance and indeed close her eyes for a moment as her body wished till he returned.

 

Tbc


	15. Leniency

Chapter 15: Leniency

 

By the time Jack arrived back with the squirming bundle, he was thankful for the respite he could have in the old rocking chair placed at the end of the hall, separated from furniture deemed worthy by the lady of the house to be displayed in the salons. Claire was being dressed and fed and tended to and that was fine with him, he was in no hurry to get anywhere. Ever since that fateful night at Wentworth Prison, he had never been truly well and perhaps that was to be expected if one believed not as much in a deity who cared, but at least in some sort of balance between good and bad that kept the world at an equilibrium. Every part of him ached, some more than others. His not long ago crushed ribs from the cattle charge and headaches to go with that, an uncomfortable feeling in his lower regions that he assumed had to be more in his head than anywhere else for the lack of a complete and functional body part to go with it and most of all, his belly. He had been trying to hang on, to get to the estate, then till she could speak to Claire, to let her know all was well and arranged for the children no matter what and that had not been with little difficulty. His stomach was cramping badly, making him lean forward and that inadvertently set the rocking chair in motion. The baby stilled in his arms, assessing the experience, then settled to his chest, obviously content with the new rhythmic movement. 

 

Claire's door opened, the maid leaving it ajar at the room's occupant's insistence for fresh air while she took the empty dishes down to the kitchens and that was how Claire saw them, Jack and Brianna, the rocking chair in sight. She had seen him being gentle before, with Alex, with Mary, with Denys, but this baby was her own flesh and blood and the sight equally shocked her, disquieted her, taken her by surprise and made hope swell in her chest, tears wanting to flow but frozen in place instead for mistrust and fear of the future. Jack had been full of surprises, good and bad, every step of the way and there was no way he could or even want to keep his darkness hidden for a long time, not by his own admittance. So she pulled herself higher on her pillows as much as she could and stared, wishing Brianna safe like she was at that moment in time. 

 

Not able to concentrate on much more than the pain that seared through his midsection, it took Jack a good few minutes to notice her stare. He blinked and concentrated on the inside once more, gathering strength and choosing the moment between waves of twisting agony to stand and shuffle over to the bed, where he more dropped Brianna into her mother's arms than anything else. With the last reminder of his dignity, he just about managed to plop himself into the chair the peope who had previously tended to the new mother had been using. 

 

Claire only had eyes for her daughter. While she had felt fortified by the thick, rich vegetable and chicken country soup she had been offerred along with a few drops of wine, the sight of the little one gave her the enthusiasm to sit up on her own and take the wonder into her arms, really see her for the first time, the curve of her jaw, the shape of her eyes, the prominent cheekbones. It was hard to tell as yet who she would take after, her or Jamie, but that was quite natural at this age, which was...”How long was I out?” Claire enquired without looking up. 

 

“Three days,” Jack provided with a wince she did not take account of for the moment. 

 

“So she's three days old?”

 

“Four. Sorry, I was only counting the days you've spent here,” he relented. 

 

“What is the date? The date of her birth?”

 

“The 20th of May, 1746 is when she was born.”

 

Claire nodded, further infatuated with the baby. In concordance with being slightly premature, while her breathing seemed normal for an infant, Brianna was quite scrawny, without an ounce of extra fat on her arms or cheeks. In a sudden movement, Claire decided that the wetnurse could not be providing enough milk for her, for certain, not if she had to feed three babies. Her own breasts were swollen, hard and painful, ready to burst. Her milk must've came in while she was unconscious, despite the bloodloss and her breasts were begging for mercy, for relief, a sensation that would only go away slowly, in a matter of days if not taken care of immediately, the way the nobility of the era customarily did it, leaving it to servants to feed their children. But she would follow no such tradition. Showing herself in Jack's presence she merely considered for the fraction of a moment, barely conscious of her own train of thought-he didn't matter in that regard, him and her, they were long past such observation of social conventions due to the uniqueness of their common past. 

 

What made her pause however was her own inexperince with lactation. While she had seen it manifold, was taught the theory and advised others on the correct position for having babies latching on in a way it wasn't a strain on the nipples, she suddenly felt unsure about whether she was approaching it the right way. Brianna however didn't think about it twice. Perhaps it was natural instinct or the experience she already had, but she was already sucking by the time Claire would've decided on a course of action. For a while, the time traveller simply marvelled, aware of how bias she would've sounded if she would've voiced her thoughts on the baby being a clever little one. Withall, once she snapped out of that state of mind, she wanted to make sure Brianna was healthy and for that she would have to use the hollow tube from her medicine bag she used for ascultation of the heart and lungs instead of the not yet invented stethoscope. “Where are my things?”

 

Jack took some time to answer, having to first bring himself out his inner world of pain, “in the wardrobe I believe.”

 

“Bring me my medicine bag.”

 

“Ring the maid to do so,” he suggested, then sighed at his own idea as the bell seemed to have been located hanging at the opposite wall. “Or not.”

 

Claire looked at him rather at a loss for a moment, followed his gaze, then looked back at him, not quite understanding the trouble or his reluctance. The wardrobe was closer than the bell. But as she scrutinised him for an explanation, she really looked at him for the first time, finally strong enough t o concentrate on anything else than herself and jolted out from her motherly fascination. More than a single glance she didn't need either. His colour, his posture, his barely schooled expression and erratic breathing told the entire story, not to mention how quiet, subdued and passive he had been. Claire almost slapped herself in the head for not noticing, remembering sooner. “Jack.” The word came out sympatethic and worried. “How bad does it hurt?”

 

He shook his head and tightened his hold on his belly, vocalisation unnecessary. “Can you keep anything down?” She pressed on.

 

Another shake of the head, “not sure. I haven't tried today. Not worth the cramps that food in my stomach causes.”

 

“Jack,” Claire said again, apprehension pooling in her own stomach. She could not evade the feeling of certainty that his health was worse and that he was seriously and life threateningy ill. She could not spare wasted minutes on contemplating why that matterred to her, she had to act. “Jack. I need to examine you. Come, lie down next to me.”

 

He raised questioning eyes at her so she went to elaborate,“this is what it is supposed to be our 'marital' bed is it not? I was told we were only separated so we can be tended to separately.” 

 

“Yees,” Jack intoned, somewhat unsure. He didn't expect an invitation into her bed, but it wouldn't faze him either. It wasn't far, all he had to do was extend a hand to support himself on the bedframe, pull the rest of his body after and shift carefully round, without having to uncurl his midsection too drastically. Lying onto his right side, towards Claire, the side that hurt less, he pulled his legs up further to ease the tremor that went through him with the upheaval. He had moved way too much that day to accomodate her various requests.

 

Claire had to do a little manoeuvring herself to free a hand while not disturbing Brianna in her feeding. It was Jack's pulse she took first, making it unnecessary to check for his temperature. Heat radiated out his veins at the wrist as well. Practiced at the sensing of the passing of time without a watch, she estimated his pulse rate at about 110 per minute. Blood pressure monitors have not been invented yet, but it was clear from his paleness, shortness of breath and unfocussed gaze that his blood pressure would be alarmingly low. As a result, she reached to his belly hesitant, not looking forward to what she was going to find. “I don't treat you for four days and you get yourself in this state?” She complained.

 

Jack braced himself also, consciously as well as on instinct, abdominals going rigid afore she touched him. “I will be as careful as I can,” Claire promised, fingertips ghosting over his skin. 

 

The words made him raise his gaze towards her, search her features. Along with the tone of her voice, they were a level of sympathetic and kind he'd not heard from her directed at him. Her bedside manner had never been unkind, not even when they were at a lot worse terms, this was however, entirely unexpected. Before his thought process could reach some sort of conclusion, ut was interrupted by pronounced discomfort. No matter how careful she was, he'd rather she wasn't touching him. 

 

“Is there anyone around who could replenish some of our herb supplies? Physician, herbalist, apothecar, local witch? Town or market nearby?” Claire pulled back, indicating she was done torturing him.

 

“Perhaps the midwife who's seen you.”

 

“Good, that's good,” she eyed the bell that could ring someone to help. This time, it didn't even occur to her that it should be Jack going for it. His insides churned to the extent of audible, his abdominal muscles were tense and spasmed and more worryingly, there was rebound tenderness present to the left of his navel, where she could sense a mass under the skin. She was making him break sweat with the examination, all pointing to possible partial peritonitis, a condition not often survived in the time period she was in. Still, she was going to apply her knowledge of the future and hope for the best, or at the very least, acquire some powerful pain relief. Babe still at breast, she slid out from under the covers and set her bare feet onto the dusty carpet. 

 

tbc


	16. Habits

Chapter 16: Habits

 

Jack was used to this by now, waking hazy, nauseous and weak, not sure of how much time had passed since he went unconscious and what had happened around him, the only constant being the cramping of his belly. The current setting he was in was rather puzzling though. Not the room or the so called marital bed he was still in, it was the presence of the person sitting by his bedside that susprised him. 

 

“Are you coming back to us?” William was leaning close, searching his brother's features.

 

“Maybe...?” Jack allowed. To reflect on the situation himself, he consciously tried assessing his own health by taking account of what he was feeling. Some abdominal discomfort was present of course, but he was used to it and it would certainly not bother him at the level he was currently experiencing it. Of course he was also nauseous, but he was also used to ignoring that till throwing up became imminent. Hot he did not feel and he was quite satisfied with the clarity of his current mind, so all in all he would've declared himself reasonably well, relatively speaking, in terms of what was to be expected ever since he first fell ill. 

 

William gave him a squeeze of the arm, then pulled back, composure swiftly in place, “you'd better be. Your wife has been stirring up a lot of trouble. Lavinia thinks the devil might be inside her and you know how she is when she gets an idea into her head.”

 

“What happened?” Jack groaned apprehensively. Lavinia has never been good news with her dogmas and inhibitions and judgemenal mentality. 

 

“We brought a prestigious doctor down from London for you. Your wife refused the clyster treatment he suggested, accused him of a lack of good sense and exposed him for using horse dung in one of his curative drugs, but 'borrowed' his instruments to cut you up in secret and remove the disease.”

 

Jack drew a weak, shaky hand to his belly, finding bandages, but curiously, no worse pain when he poked around his own abdomen in wonder. “It worked,” he established.

 

“She also told the coachman a method on how to pass bladder stones before the travelling lithotomist arrived to treat him, proved a laundry maid we sent away that she didn't have consumption by curing her cough, accused the minister he was spreading disease with rotting bibles and reset a journeyman's wrist he was previously told he could never use, all in the space of a short week.”

 

“Sounds like Claire alright.” Jack couldn't help a swell of pride filling his chest. He had always known she was something special and the fact that she had now been affiliated with him gave him a sensation of pleasure, satisfaction and contentment, “all successful ventures I believe?”

 

“That maybe so, but she also claims that my youngest son has Weston has some sort of heart disease that runs in the family and that she can not cure.”

 

“I'd believe it if she says so,” the younger Randall certified.

 

William shook his head, “I'd been sitting here waiting till I could ask you, how is that possible for a woman, for anyone in fact, to have such certain knowledge of all conditions. For the servants, they whisper witchcraft and Lavinia is not far off.”

 

“Not you?” Jack wondered, surprised. William's intelligence mainly lay in horse breeding, agriculture and the art of bullying the two of them perfected on each other during their childhood together. While William didn't particularly care for gossip and women's superstitions, he would not have the knowledge to refute them if they affected him either. 

 

“I thought Ash would need to be shot, but your wife saved him with a concoction.” 

 

“Ash?”

 

“My fastest stallion. He stood up within an hour and we resumed his training the next day,” William specified. He was weary enough not to get involved in gambling himself, he loved his wealth and property too much for that, but he was breeding horses for the races and those desperate for a new ride did often pay a good price. “I don't believe any witchcraft to be involved in knowing the best care of a horse.”

 

“Even busier than usual,” Jack marvelled at Claire's accomplishments within a short time. “She needs to slow down, or there will be bad talk,” he agreed with his brother. “I will speak to her,” he promised, “where is she?”

 

“In the nursery. She's insisted on feeding the girl herself,” William shook his head, disapproving yet again. “Where did you find the absurdly infuriating creature?”

 

“Scotland's most precious living wildflower, whether transplanted or not,” the younger brother boasted. 

 

“Well, can you rein her in?” The older Randall urged once again.

 

Jack took a pause before answering. Sure, forcing people to do things they didn't want to under threat of severe punishment worked for most of the population. However, there were examples when it did not. Jamie he had managed to break, but only temporarily, and Claire he was not sure could be broken much either. Like the most stubborn weeds, they always fought back up to the surface. Fact was that Claire was precious to him, and not only because of her medical skills. She was a wonder to behold that could only be kept by burying much of his dark side. “Some treasure has to stay untouched to shine,” he claimed. Regret he didn't what happened at Wenthworth Prison. At that moment in time that was the only way to own Jamie, circumstances however were different now.

 

William grunted and stood in annoyance, “brother, I never took you to be a fool for love,” he misunderstood Jack's desire to own the woman. He walked up and down in the small room anxiously for a few times before he stood at the bottom of the bed, “take a few days to rest, by all means,” he waved a dismissive hand in the air, “but afterwards we will have to discuss your role here at the house.”

 

Jack nodded. Not as if he expected anything else anyway, regardless of what Claire would or wouldn't do. William would never let them stay out of the goodness of his heart, not counting Denys as he was an orphan the family was responsible for. There will have to be some sort of arrangement if they were going to be there long term. “Could you tell my wife I am in discomfort?” It was the best his insides had felt in weeks, but perhaps Claire wouldn't stir up as much trouble if she tended to him instead of randoms.

 

Tbc


	17. Headway

Chapter 17: Headway

 

“Jack?” Soft, tender fingers touched his cheek, making him aware that Claire must've re-entered the room while he had apprently dosed off. “William said you're in pain?” She questioned, intent.

 

He shook his head, “not now.” He wouldn't exactly say he was lying earlier, just gave an evasive answer. Her manner around him was more intriguing than his own reasoning. “What happened?” He asked the same question of her as he had asked of his brother previously, hoping for a more informative and to him relevant answer. Like what made her so lenient with him. 

 

“You had a pocket of fluids collecting in your abdomen that needed drained. No major surgery, I was only worried about the hygienic conditions.”

 

“I'm afraid most of the household thinks you've performed a miracle, or more like, a handful of them.”

 

“Like with La Dame Blanche,” she shrugged, “nothing new about that.”

 

Jack reached for her hand, squeezing it lightly, “you have to be careful,” he insisted, “this might not be the back of beyond of the Scottish Highlands, yet it doesn't change the fact that the common folk are very likely to explain what they don't understand by supernatural forces.”

 

“Witchcraft has been ruled out as an act in England, there are no more witch trials after 1735.” Claire claimed, more unsure than she sounded. Was the year correct?

 

“According to my understanding, it has proved possible to change history,” he meant himself as the only outcome they were aware of so far. “It would be unwise to tempt fate.”

 

“That's hardly your life philosophy,” she argued, rolling her eyes.

 

“That was...before,” he broke eye contact. The past was always treacherous ground to cover. “Before I had something to lose besides gambling with my life and fortunes,” he specified, avoiding dangerous mentions of past events. “How long are you staying for?” He changed subject quickly, under no circumstances wanting to be asked what was so precious that he possessed now. 

 

Claire sighed, “you are hardly able to take care of yourself. I'm intending to get you into remission and then I will leave you with a set of instructions regarding diet and life choices that should serve you to preserve your relative health.” 

 

“You're still intending to leave,” he summarised. Would making sure he stayed ill change or delay her departure?-The thought occurred to him fleetingly, and he dismissed it for the moment to be pondered upon at a different time as he was rather unsure he would ever get well to start with. He was clinging to her, obsessively, he was aware, in somewhat of a similar fashion as he had been attached to Jamie and it probably wasn't all to do with him needing her medical knowledge or even pertaining to her relationship to the fascinating Scotsman. 

 

The time traveller fixed him with an incredulous look, “besides not belonging here, I have every intension to get as far from you as possible.”

 

“Our paths keep crossing, no matter what we do. It has surprised me how much a few times already. We can't even escape each other going to a different country.”

 

“I will worry about that when it comes to it,” Claire dismissed his claim, “I can think of real far away places.” She almost added, 'and we're not quite as fierce foes as we used to be.' Not now, not after what they've done for each other. Him in effect, for all intents and purposes, as good as saving her child, that's got to count for something. 

 

“For now though, you have played along with your guise I laid out for you,” Jack couldn't help but rejoice at that. 

 

“Lacking of a better one...” She admitted. She moved round the nightstand to produce the medicine bag Jack knew well. “Could you sit up for me a bit? I'm going to look at your stomach.”

 

The invalid wriggled upwards onto his back slowly and hesitantly and was surprised to find that apart from a pang of emptiness and a dull echo of a diffuse and brief ache across his midsection, moving didn't present difficulties. Claire washed her hands in the basin, shook them for the air to dry them a bit and sat down beside him on the edge of the bed to peek under the bandage on his belly. “The incision I made is healing well,” she told him with a gratified and self-confident expression, clearly having checked on it not long ago and many times while he was still unconscious. The qualified nurse pulled the padding that sat against the wound out and exchanged it with a clean one from her bag, but did not put him through having to be maneuvred around for the entire bandage running round him to hold the one under in place to be changed. 

 

Jack sat compliantly while she took his pulse, made him open his mouth so she could look into it and listened to his belly and chest. “There's no better assessment than what the patients can give you themselves,” she quated someone, or perhaps herself, “so how are you feeling?”

 

“Lucky to be alive,” he repeated what he had said to her on a previous occasion in Edinburgh, and this time, he meant it, with how thorough and considerate she had been with him. Last time that was the case, he was too unwell to marvel over it. “Thanks to you.”

 

“Don't remind me,” Claire grunted. The brunette also took a moment to reflect and be weirded out by the situation. It wasn't the first time she had saved his life, but there always was a reason. It was getting to the ridiculous stage. “Any pain?” She probed. It was easier to concentrate on pracical matters. 

 

“Almost none.”

 

“Alright, let's see,” she neared her hand to his stomach, fingers extended so she could perform a full palpation of the abdomen. Jack tensed, on instinct, but eventually blew the air out his lungs in relief half way through her examination. Whatever she had done to him while he was unconscious, it had proved to be the exact treatment he needed. All her ministrations set off was making his stomach gurgling as if he was hungry. 

 

“All's well,” she concluded, “now I'd like you to understand that your welbeing depends on how closely you follow my intructions. As I have explaned before, what you have is a chronic, recurring condition that could easily kill you if not looked after and could also remain dormant for many years if we're lucky. Triggers vary and until we figure out yours, we need to be even more cautious.”

 

“You are taking my health very seriously,” Jack couldn't help noting. The surreality of it had been occupying him for some time and he wanted to find some answers. “Why. And don't give me the story about Denys' upbringing and offspring.”

 

“It wouldn't be me if I didn't treat those ill. I've risked my life, health and child before, for people I didn't know.”

 

Jack dismissed her explanation as one that didn't apply to them, “you should want me dead. You wanted me dead.”

 

Claire could've said a million things. That her own concience rarely allowed such a thing, that she owed him a life for her daughter, that she kept him alive so she was the one choosing when he died and was keeping his life in her hands which in fact she entirely had been, given the circumstances, that she was using him to put a foot in the door, that she was holding a card for a favour for later, but instead she stood silently. “I see you Jack. I see you. You can't hide behind the darkness forever. For there is good in you and I swear on everything that's dear to me that I will bring that out to light from inside you. Now, I shall get you something safe to eat when restarting digestion.” She closed the door and slid against it, heart racing and cursing herself for what she had done, once again. 'Typical Claire,' she admonished herself, 'setting yourself up to accomplish the impossible.'

 

At the other side of the door, Jack was similarly taken aback, the admiration he had for her swelling in size once more. That woman didn't give up. The why of his question however, remained unanswered. 

 

Tbc


	18. Drill

Chapter 18: Drill

 

Seven months later

 

Claire bundled Brianna up in an extra shawl and carried her over to her and Jack's bedroom. Taking a child out the nursery and letting her sleep next to her in the large and surprisingly comfortable four poster matrimonial bed had been frown upon by the lady and the lord of the house, but given that she had lost her first baby, Claire found it hard to part from the little girl for long. Additionally, Brianna served as a kind of barrier between her and Jack Randall, neither of them daring to roll too close as not to harm the baby. In general though, Claire wasn't too weirded out by sleeping next to her former arch enemy. They had been doing the exact same on the way down from Scotland, besides, not as if he was interested in her or capable, and the close quarters had been pretty convenient when she wanted to keep an eye on his condition. 

 

The tomcat with nine lives, as Claire referred to him sometimes in her mind, had once more recovered from a near death experience and was more or less able to perform daily duties his older brother bestowed upon him so that their stay wasn't such a freeboarding card as it may have appeared to someone from the outside. These duties and errands reached from collecting rent from tenants, making supply runs to London and meeting up with lawyers and bookkeepers to the less pleasant roles of overseeing the hiring of extra workers for the harvest or organising hunts. Jack considered some of these to be the responsibility of servants, with good cause, and had been fuming about them in the privacy of their bedroom, much to Claire chagrin or indifference. Though when William came up with the suggestion that the brothers should go up into the capital for an audience at Coutts Bank together, Claire was herself quite sure that the few days those two will have to spend together in each other's company will result in a fight and inevitably, sooner or later, in a decision from Jack to look for his fortune elsewhere. 

 

Anticipating this to the extent of waiting for it, Claire had been delaying her own departure. Initially, her intention was to leave as soon as Jack was capable of taking care of himself and understood the workings of his illness being based on preventative measures for the avoidance of a relapse. But by that time, she had found herself an avid follower and student in Elosia, Lavinia and William's eldest daughter, a fifteen year old who had seeked out her knowledge at first for the benefit of her beloved dog, who had sufferred an accident where he broke his front legs. 

 

Encouraged by the successful recovery of the animal at the hands of who she thought was he aunt, Elosia had started asking her about all angles of the science of medicine and Claire was happy to oblige in the prospect that Denys and Jack would be more likely to remain safe and healthy in her absence if there was someone else at the house who would be knowledgeable on the subject after her departure. Acquiring such knowledge however didn't happen overnight and so Claire stayed, committing herself to at least a year of teaching, especially given the circumstances that they had to proceed mostly in secret, with Lavinia not tolerating the practice of such questionable 'magic' in her house. Tonight however, she had been proccupied with thoughts of Jack in regards to the likely erupting vulcano situation between the brothers and wondering why they haven't arrived home yet. Spending a full night awake thinking wasn't advisable at any case and she was just about to blow out the candles and go to sleep when she heard horses arriving, accompanied by amicable and jovial voices, rather than angry or argumentative ones she had been expecting. If they weren't arguing, then Jack was usually quiet around his older sibling. In his inevitable submissive position he hated, he would not give anyone the satisfaction to voice his feelings. 

 

Approaching footsteps followed, loud and chaotic, occasionally peppered with a bang and then the door swang wide open, the noise making Claire wince and check whether Brianna was still asleep.”You will wake her!” She complained, shrinking back from the heavy smell of alcohol that accompanied Jack into the room.

 

The ex captain tossed his heavy coat onto the floor, then stumbled over to the foot of the bed, hicupped and stared stupidly at the child, head lolling and narrowing his eyes to see better, “I didn't,” he waved airily. 

 

“Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ! Did you not notice that alcohol was on the list of possible triggers! What did you drink and how much!” She demanded angrily, though she kept her voice down for the sake of the infant. 

 

“Mostly wine and sherry. As to how much, I do not know. Can you measure 'a lot'?”

 

Claire took a deep breath and rolled her eyes, “and you expect me to nurse you back to health if you have a relapse?” At least he wasn't slurring much, so that was hopeful.

 

“I will have a relapse, not if,” he went on as if talking casually about the weather, “my stomach cramps like there's no tomorrow already, but I'd like to enjoy the buzz in my head while it lasts, with your permission, Madam.”

 

It sounded sarcastic enough for Claire to pause. It reminded her of a Jack she usually made an effort to erase out of her daily thoughts, especially with the wording and she did not like it one bit. “Go over to the washbowl, lean over it and put two fingers down your throat,” she commanded, “it's best if you get rid of whatever alcohol there's still in your stomach undigested.” And perhaps his poised attitude would go with it, she hoped. 

 

“I will do no such thing,” he argued with the drunkard's stubbornness, “I will let you know, I've had some cordials to go with it as to lessen the effect.”

 

Cordials. Claire resisted the urge to roll her eyes once again. People in the eighteenth century were clinging to ludicrous ideas too much, like liqueurs, so called cordials, being used for medicine. In the wobbly state he was, it was easy for her to grab Jack by the collar, drag him to the bowl and utilise her own fingers to make him sick before he could get himself together enough to protest. “Have I not been sick enough lately already?” He grumbled as soon as he was able.

“Are you done?” Claire checked his expression. “That was for your own benefit. Now sit,” she allowed him to support himself on her shoulders as they made their way towards the bed where he plopped down and his putative wife removed his boots. “Will you tell me already what is going on?It's not like you and William to get merry together.”

 

“We were drinking on the agreement.”

 

“What agreement?” Claire was impatient. She didn't trust either of the Randall brothers for anything good to stem out of the occurrence.

 

“The agreement I can thank you for, my esteemed wife!”

 

“Your wife? How much did you drink indeed! Now should I put some more fingers down to drag anything useful out of you?”

 

“Hush, it is you who will wake the child,” he peered beside him, earning another eyeroll from Claire. He could be quite odd when it came to Denys and Brianna, intrested, as well as involved in assuring their welbeing and Claire came to appreciate it at times, but this wasn't one of those occasions. She was in between growling and contemplating slapping him when he continued, “William took me to the bank to introduce me to the owner as I will be the one taking over dealings. And not just that, I'm to take over communicating with lawyers, architects, suppliers, tenants and the authorities. In other words, I'm to manage the affairs of the family and the property. He had fired both the Estate Stewart and the House Stewart.”

 

“That should save him a good £80 a year.” Of course that made sense, if Jack was going to do their job for free. But how did that not anger Jack?

 

“You misunderstand. It is for 30% of any yearly income the land generates, which would normally come down to more than that £80 a year.”

 

“Why would William do such a thing?” Claire was very suspicious now. William had been nothing but stingy since their arrival, giving her hard looks if she took a second helping off a tray at the dinner table and questioned why she would need more clothes than what she possessed when she arrived. 

 

“Lavinia.”

 

“Why would Lavinia do such a thing?” The question would be the same, with a little modification, “encourage a move like that?”

 

“I believe she has met the Duke of Buillon on her visit to Bath in the autumn, results of which she considers as proof that you're not just a witch, but moreso, the infamous La Dame Blanche.”

 

“Oh.” Lavinia has stayed out of her way mostly over the last couple of months and if they did interact, Claire felt she had been treated with respect. Now she knew the truth. It wasn't that the lady of the house finally came round to acknowledge the validity of her modern ways, it was only that she was scared of her. What's more, Jack was also benefiting from this misconception. “Half of what you earn is mine, money I will sorely need when I leave here with Brianna.”

 

Jack cast a glance at the child to his right, breaking his gaze reluctantly. It would not even occur to him to argue the deal with Claire, but Brianna, or his alleged wife, he did not want to lose. Something will have to be done about that, perhaps falling ill on purpose when the time is right. Which reminded him that alcohol perhaps indeed hadn't been the best idea, at least not the extent he'd indulged. “I don't feel so well,” he rubbed a light hand on his belly.

 

Claire rolled her eyes again, “I'll get you some medicine. Maybe we can stop this relapse before it starts.”

 

tbc


	19. Regime

Chapter 19: Regime 

 

One Year Later

 

There was a shaft of morning light that broke through the heavy curtains of their bedroom due to them having been incorrectly drawn by one of the servants, light that currently illuminated a few locks of Claire's wavy hair as she lay with her back to him beside him. Jack pulled an inch or so closer on instinct, missing her touch. He had grown decidedly accustomed to the soothing abdominal massages she had warded bouts of cramping off in the absence of proper, something called antibiotics and anti-inflammatories. Claire had a good sense for it and did tend to know when he needed it without as much as asking, but after the days she usually spent in nearby villages and farms visiting patients, she kind of tended to fall asleep during her working on him, with her hand on his belly and her body close. And while sexual thoughts never occurred to him given his orientation, he felt she was giving him more than medical treatment, and something infinitely more valuable, human touch he had craved his entire life and could never seem to be able to achieve. Of course he had been going about it in all the wrong ways, he knew that now, but he also knew that he didn't have any other choice at the time. 

 

Their little ritual had become really important to him and he had contemplated lying about his health so that her skilled belly rub happened more often, but there was more than one reason against that. Firstly, he could only exaggerate on occasion as he feared her expertise would give him away and moreso, she had also proved to be a great physician by ensuring that his replapses were milder and few and far in between. But mostly, he feared to break what was in the process of building between them, a certain, if limited amount of trust, companionship in what the two of them could only understand and relate to and if he was being generous, then perhaps there was some form of partnership there, at least as much as the children's welfare was concerned. He will have to think of something else to have her sleeping closer. 

 

As he watched her, wishing circumstances to be different, he became aware of subtle movement that originated from her, making the bed shake a little. His interest increasing, he noticed her elbow move under the cover. From the rhythm and location its focus seemed to be, it wasn't hard to guess that she was pleasuring herself, probably assuming he was still asleep. It wasn't the first time he'd noticed either and he could not blame her for it. In the prime of her life as a woman, and she wouldn't have had the chance to fornicate with anyone for the nigh two years they have spent in each other's company. And from previous occasions this had happened, he knew that she couldn't quite help herself. Maybe she didn't dare to be vigorous enough as not to alert him to what she was doing, but fact remained that none of her breathing pattern or tension going out her body gave an indication that she had managed to do anything else than make herself more frustrated than she had been before. So this time, he turned to his side and extended a hand to touch the arm in motion. “Let me help you with that,” he proffered confidentially.

 

It was abashment that froze her. “Mind your own damn bloody business!”

 

“Strange that you don't want any payment for all the services you provide.”

 

“Do you have to make it sound dirty.” Claire fell into the habitude of banter easily enough. It was the form of existence between them their hostility had boiled down to over their time together. So used to each other they were too.

 

“It would be a fair demand, Claire. It's rather taxing living in anticipation of when the stabbing back is due.”

 

“I would hardly stab you as I would have to be the one having to treat you afterwards.”

 

“For which, I am grateful.” He raised himself on an elbow and managed to make her turn to look at him as he hovered over her. “Let me,” he said determinedly, yet softly. 

 

Claire pulled herself up on her pillows a little, intrigued by this turn of events he presented. Jack would never seize to surprise her, the same as she had been a constant source of fascination for him. “I thought you weren't interested in women.”

 

“This issue has nothing to do with my inclinations, does it. It has to do with your inability to enjoy the favours your own body could provide to the fullest. And I shouldn't think I would need an entirely different skillset as opposed to sucking dick.”

 

“Well, that sounded entirely inviting, not.” Claire pursed her lips in frustration. She couldn't discard the idea however. At the very least, she was curious. She felt entitled too, Jack did owe her a lot. 

 

He hardly ever touched her without previous invitation or consent, he had learnt early on that it was that way how it had to be if they were to establish a working relationship where the past was purposefully shoved to the side. He moved closer however to indicate solid intent. “I am good at it, a good few men could vouch for that.”

 

Claire looked at him somewhat suspiciously. She didn't take him for someone who would play the submissive at any point. For obvious reasons, sexual relations was one of the taboo subjects between them, so the finding was another surprise. “No frills or unnecessary touch, just pleasuring at target,” she set the terms, “and I don't want to see you while you're doing it.”

 

Jack glanced up and contemplated whether he should close the curtains fully and make it dark in the room, but then he simply slid under the covers. “Works for me,” she heard the muffled sound coming from near her tighs, his breath lightly touching her skin. 

 

“Can you see what you are doing under there?” Claire questioned, the pause while he got his bearings under there giving her enough time to make her self-conscious a little and acutely aware of the unusualness and oddity of the situation. Her next inhale however was cut short by a flick of the tongue between the folds of her already swollen and overstimulated pussy, followed by another and another before she got used to the sensation enough to swallow and thump at where she believed his head to be. “Pleasure, not torture,” she pressed out between her lips.

 

He didn't remind her how close those two were. Probably she had been too engulfed in the moment to make the connection and any allure to Jamie would certainly spoil their activities. Aware that he had perhaps been a little too forward and should gradually build up her release rather than shock her into it, he changed tack and rubbed his palm against her pussy instead, pressing hard, but not too hard, quite similar to how she had been doing when performing her healing abdominal massages. She was clearly wet and desperate to have allowed him to assist, that thankfully he didn't have to work on. He rubbed on, heel of his palm pressing to his opening, fingers slipping into his folds teasingly as if belonged. While not being completely familiar with female anatomy, he set out to give his attention to the entirety of her groins, since that was how it worked with men as well. He felt her tense when his fingers moved faster and her breathing more noticeable and decided it had to be a good thing. Besides, she was quiet and her back side arched up towards him involuntarily, body urging him to go on. Guessing at how outside simulation would never be enough as she had tried enough herself lately, he pulled his hand downwards and slipped two fingers inside her wide and ready opening. Nah, two fingers, ridiculous, she would be used to at least the width of three if Jamie's girth was anything to go by. He added another finger just as she spread her legs, perhaps unconsciously wishing the same. 

 

It was so slick inside her, juices pooling at the ready so much that Jack had to wonder how it would indeed be comfortable in there for a penis. It was a purely poetic and theoretical question however as he had nor the means or the natural tendency and concentrated on his work instead. This was pure business, payment for services, same as his last encounter with Jamie had been, a man he could never keep out of his mind-bed, the same as Claire, that he was sure of. 

 

The brunette was showing no indication that she was averse to his ministrations, in fact, her legs began to quiver. He pumped faster, keeping a finger in her clit the same way as he would still give attention to a man's balls while working his fist. Suddenly, her toes curled as they pressed into the soft horse hair mattress their bed was made of and she reached under the covers and grabbed at his long, freed hair and pushed his face into her pussy. “That much with the hands I can do myself,” she complained.

 

“And yet you don't,” he commented, a little disoriented and somewhat petulant. Sure, he volunteered, but how was he really supposed to know what made Claire peak. He kept his fingers inside her, but moved them slower at the same time and rate as he darted his wet, slick tongue out into and round her folds, reaching places she never knew were possible to reach. 

 

Claire raised her arms, bit her lips as not to cry out in the chaos of sensations he roused in her, she would not give him that satisfaction to let him know he was indeed playing her like a musical instrument. Her shaky and intermittent breathing she could not control and the way her head wanted to be tossed from side to side, barely. It was a dilemma she had to solve quickly if she wanted release-she could never reach it if she held back. She arched up and licked her lips as his fingers curled inside her and his tongue circled her oversensitised nub. The volume of sensation threw everything else out the window, she had to let out a moan and clentch at the pillow tighly against the overload of nerve endings firing a storm. This warmth she felt grow inside her body she could not deny, would not, it has been so long since she felt this close. Her whole lower body was quivering and trembling, the walls of her vagina contracted rhythmically and her lips parted, gasping for air. Claire squirmed and his fingers reached deeper as a result, making her gasp on turn. She was close, she was so very close. 

 

While Jack didn't particularly enjoy the taste or the experience, he did enjoy the reaction he got out of her. It was a bit like old times again, he was in fact the giver, the controller while from the outside it seemed like the opposite. And hearing her moan and whimper and feeling her getting wetter by the minute felt empowering, like a great surge of sparks and lightning and life force. He had missed the feeling and had to admit that it worked almost just as well if the other party was a woman. It almost saddened him when she threw her head back and let out a long moan, the muscles of her pussy seizing at length around his fingers because it meant it was over, she reached as far as she could go and then relaxed, tension noticeably going out of her, if gradually. 

 

Jack crawled out silently from under the covers and plopped down into his normal space, breathless himself. It wasn't easy work, pleasuring a woman. She turned her back at him, but not before he could see the flush on her face going darker. He shook his head in disbelief at the turn of events and smirked. He felt like humming actually. Amazing. He had Claire, he had her where he wanted her. Well, for the moment, but still. In his self-appreciating trace he was too slow to notice the quick movement at his side. He groaned in discomfort when considerable weight pressed on his delicate stomach, with Claire atop of him, pinning his hands down and staring him down sternly, “let's make this clear. You are not to mention this again, and only repeat it when I request it.”

 

The Englishman winced. It could have not been a coicidence that her bottom was sitting exactly atop of his midsection, with almost her entire weight pushing down where only light massage was recommended. “You liked it then,” he concluded, cockiness returning to him despite the discomfort.

 

“Payment it was and payment I will take,” she tried to sound like she still had a logical mind, “yes mistress Claire-is what you say.”

 

Jack raised his eyebrows in surprise, “you like roleplay?”

 

“Your role is to provide. End of story.”

 

“Done.” 

 

“I'm not a fool. I know how much you get out of this,” she warned before she climbed off. 

 

Jack pulled a hand to his belly, “damn it.”

 

Claire pursed her lips, “sorry about that,” she frowned a little sheepishly, then placed a light hand on his stomach too, “I can massage it for you,” she sighed in resignation, “you big baby.” Her fingers started circling, but eye contact she avoided. No matter how used to they were to sharing their everydays with each other, it has been too weird, the past half an hour. 

 

Neither noticed the smile dancing on both their lips. 

 

Tbc


	20. Shapes and Sizes

Chapter 20: Shapes and Sizes

 

Just the same as it became habitual between them for Claire to share any new developmental advance Denys and Brianna was making or for Jack to discuss matters of the estate he very much appreciated her opinion on, it has become part of their routine that every few weeks or so, Jack would go down on her, either when noticing by himself that his bedfellow had started pleasuring herself, an act she made no secret of now for this very reason, or when Claire took his hand and put it down to her loins, demanding the service. 

 

Customarily, they would be nigh silent and hasty, still seeking the veil of darkness and never mentioning it again in between. How successful, or unsuccessful he was he knew from her sighs and tenseness and while he didn't have the experience to judge a woman's contentedness is bed, judging by from where she stopped him mostly, he gathered as much that while she preferred his ministrations to being left to her own devices, they weren't enough to give her fullblown climaxes as opposed to writhing on the edge and abandoned attempts to ride his fingers. At times like this, half muffled moans leaving her throat and muscles convulsing around her fingers in desperate desire to swallow him up, it was blatantly obvious what was missing despite his best efforts. Claire would've rather preferred the real thing. 

 

Without prior warning, she drew the air in abruptly and turned them over, him on his back with her next move, no longer a passive recipient. Jack looked up, but as usual, found no partner for eye contact. The woman above him was concentrated on adjusting his fingers, pushing them herself as she was riding them. Finding himself in a position where his task was taken over from him bar for the rocking of his hips, he remained spellbound by the expression on her face-rapt, focussed, impatient and ardent, skin tinted pink with the exersion, hair tussled like a wild kitten's. She was alternating between licking her lips, panting and biting her lips and it fascinated Jack, along with the trembling of her bottom lip when she struggled to keep the sounds her throat was intent on emitting, under control. He understood the problem: Claire was one of those women to whome carnal pleasures were an important part of life. Admittedly, additionally she had been actively trying for children with both Frank and Jamie and Jack could just imagine it, tenacious at everything as she was. He watched her as she groaned and whimpered, release escaping her once more, dense pressure tingling in her loins expectantly, torturous in its persistence. Her motions slowed and her breath halted, the usual signs of her giving up. It was hopeless between them and Jack felt worthless for not being able to pleasure her. 

 

“Bloody hell!” He sucked in the air when suddenly when instead of what he expected her to do-retreat to her own side of the bed with her back to him, she raised his nightshirt and pulled her hands to his lower belly, a different place to where she usually massaged him. His muscles clenched in surprise as well.

 

“This close I need...” Claire whispered. Her eyes seemed reluctant to focus, to take in the man before her. Admitting it to Jack seemed painful, but the exact moment of the acknowledgement was clear. It wasn't his face or chest or belly, but the sight of his double time useless cock. “Make me come!” She demanded in a last, trailing off attempt, fingernails digging into his stomach, all so different from the gentleness she usually treated the body part with. A shuddering breath and she was off him, retreating how he'd expected her earlier, eyes wet with the tears of frustration and sadness over her situation and body shaking, far from reigned in. A testament to his failure as a man. There were reasons why he had been violent, assering power wherever he could. Beating her however had no advantages. One thing he was sure of, that he would satisfy her if it was the last thing he did. In stubbornness he was equal to her-he will not give up, but do something, anything! 

 

Claire squeezed her eyes, willing the experience away. She couldn't believe what she had done, that she wanted that penis inside her, if only for a lost moment. That very dick that caused so much heartache, that had been targeted at the duel for that very reason. Was she crazy? Missing Frank? So whipped for dick? If only electricity existed in this world, she could order one of those electric massager vibrators queen Victoria used. Jack had previously been used as the device, and that was the least he could do to pay for his sins as far as she was concerned, though could she continue to do so if she revealed herself to be so needy? It's not like it was Jack she wanted, far from it, only a good fuck, but he might misunderstand it. In no way possible would she want to make it appear like he was more valuable than the creep dastard he was. A deep wave of embarassement engulfed her. She would die of shame if Jamie knew. She groaned, buried her head into the pillow and forcefully pushed those thoughts out of her mind. Sleep, sleep, sleep, she begged herself, go back to sleep, delay getting up, not even sure she could even look Jack in the eyes in the morning. She would have to explain that it was nothing more than the heat of the moment, making her act worse than a whore. And yet, the tingling remained, sexual needs she had no way of fulfilling. 

 

Beside her, Jack stayed on his back, too taken by surprise by the unexpectedness of her actions to move. What Claire didn't know was that he could make his penis erect, it's not that it never occurred to him to try. On the couple of occasions he experimented with his capabilities after his injury, it was painful to do so and conveyed little pleasure to make it worthwhile. Cumming he never achieved, so he was in a very similar situation to Claire's, with the difference that the pain stopped him from trying as a rule. In theory, he could do it, mechanically and without feeling, but not as if his pleasuring her was any different. His hand readily slick from her juices, he approached the appendage gently. The scars would always be a bit sore and sensitive when they moved or were made to stretch. He stroked with his finger first, making the end bob up and down, nothing more than what would be teasing so far. Jerking off wasn't something a man would forget how to do, but he had to steel his determination first to ignore the pain enough to be able to make the member perform. It was a matter of mechanics and imagination. Wrapping a hand around his penis, he closed his eyes to see the red mess that was Jamie's hair under him, his marked back that could be nobody else's but his and the organ swelled as desired with a sudden pleasuring shiver that warmed his body and pooled in his lower belly with a twisting knot. 

 

He had to take advantage of the occurrence and quick. He squeezed lightly, no more than what massaging would feel. He was cautious, testing his abilities, then began pumping quickly upward, still lightly fisted as a precaution, while he slid his thumb to the head, the part least sewed and scarred, where the old sensations hadn't suffered any loss. The response was satisfactory and at this point he wasn't even sure if the pain he felt was due to his injury or it was the expected throbbing soreness that cried out for release, a confusing cavalcad of sensations on the border of pleasure and pain. He grit his teeth, but too late, a groan had already escaped his lips at the same time as his wandering brain realised that he grew bigger than he had thought possible after the duel.

 

“Did I hurt you?” Claire turned, sheepish. She had been out of control, shamefully so. Her eyes went wide at the sight. She didn't have time to think about it though.

 

“Now or never,” Jack held, “I have no idea how long I can keep it up,” he confessed. 

 

“I didn't know you could...” The wheels in her brain turned around the technicalities of the medical condition in fascination. 

 

“Not often,” Jack said hastily, “I don't know if it will happen again,” he urged her, keeping a hand at work down there. He was just hard enough to make it possible and no more. “You want it, you know you do.”

 

Claire glanced at his eyes, reflecting the same sort of pleading expression as hers had been earlier. He wanted her desires fulfilled just as much as she did. The why and how they didn't have time for right now, that much she understood. Abandoning all restraints to be dealt with later, she moved atop of him like a few minutes ago, roughly and carelessly impaling herself on the shaft he held up for her at the ready. The sensation of his penis sliding along her insides made her suck in a breath, pause and freeze, not wanting to waste the moment and basking in the aftereffects of the overwhelming sensual memory. Moreso, she remained motionless bar for the curling of her insides to accomodate and encourage deeper penetration and enhanced sensation. Hot and twitching, his cock filled her, tight as she was and always been. 

 

“Are you going to fuck me or not?” He continued urging. This was a matter of urgency. Now that he was inside her and he could no longer stimulate himself, the urgency increased. Jack exhaled in relief when she started moving, but it was too slow, the way she was sliding along his length. It was obviously so she could feel the same satisfaction as on her first impaling herself on him, it was just that he could not afford such play, he would go soft any minute, he was certain. So in a similar fashion as she had closed her eyes any time he pleasured him, he imagined Jamie atop of him, his strong legs holding him up as he willingly and furiously slammed down on him while he held onto his long, red hair, pulling him closer, never letting go...It was working!

 

Claire moaned and had to shift-the sensation became too much all of a sudden and yet it was everyting she had been craving-a rod rock hard, a bar of fresh, warm steel, smooth, and pulsating madly, he felt so good inside her, the pleasure was intense! The brunette panted and pulled back, reacting to the stray, half-conscious thought that irked her-no, that couldn't be. Jack did not like women, right? Her eyes opened instinctively to find him with a curious, dreamy and satisfied expression, eyes closed and lips parted as if struggling for breath in the throws of an orgasm. There could only be one explanation...

 

Slap! The sound of her palm connecting with his face jolted them both out the daze of carnal desires. Her eyes filled with tears of guilt and disbelief over what she had done and this time, she not only withdrew, but completely extracted herself out of the situation by grabbing her coat and rushing out the room.

 

“Hypocrite,” Jack mumbled as he twisted and curled up. She was allowed to think of Jamie in bed and he wasn't? His hands were going down between his legs in a protective position. He was breathing heavily, less so because of the fantasy he had vividly imagined, and more so because of his, in no way pleasurably throbbing penis that felt as if it had been mutilated again. 

 

The sticky, warm mess that covered it wasn't blood however as his momentarily addled brain would've expected. The experience had been too painful for him to ever want or be able to replicate it, his body would want to protect itself by non-performance, and he was completely missing the pleasurable part, buried under stinging pain. That was exactly how he'd missed realising that he had apparently cummed, inside her. 

 

tbc


	21. Time

Chapter 21: Time

 

The next few weeks were strange between them. Jack had practically not set eyes on his putative wife for the first week, and it wasn't his doing. Claire was constantly out, either in the village, or with the children, she even accepted Lavinia's invite to join her at social calls, visiting nearby residing members of the aristocracy she otherwise despised, making it blatantly obvious she was avoiding him. 

 

Jack swooped by the nursery as was habitually his custom before bed. Seeing the sleeping children usually settled and grounded him-they weren't his but it oftentimes felt as if they were. With everybody assuming and acting as if Brianna was his daughter, it sometimes escaped his mind that in fact that wasn't the truth. This time he could hear her wails from the hallway leading up to the rooms the children were given, a large playroom and a smaller bedroom where Denys and Brianna was put together with their cousins. 

 

Brianna wasn't crying loudly, only lamenting half-heartedly, it was easy to recognise her brittle, but silvery voice asking for 'mama'. “You are going to wake everybody up,” Jack admonished mildly on approach.

 

The child brightened immediately and stood up in her cot, raising her arms to be taken out. Of course. That was due to Claire's bad habits. “Papa!” She changed the tune. 

 

Jack sighed, “your mother isn't back yet?” While the little girl didn't usually require to be taken to sleep next to her mother much anymore, she was used to Claire settling her down for the night.

 

Seeing the holdup with his reluctance to comfort her immediately, Brianna restarted her wails, louder this time for the benefit of the audience. Jack looked around startled. He would have to call for someone if several children really did wake up due to the noise and could start crying themselves. He wasn't looking forward to how that would sound in the enclosed space. Thus he swooped in with one, fluid motion, picked the child up and turned to take her out and settle her elsewhere, taking direction towards his and Claire's bedroom. 

 

The course he was taking was already enough for Brianna to quieten. While she still occasionally called out, her thumb she inserted into her mouth and the shoulder she could settle her head on was good enough to calm her into a half-asleep state. Jack arrived into his bedroom with her cuddling in, holding on to his long hair with one hand. Claire was there, getting rid of her muddy shoes by the dressing table. “She was crying,” he explained. 

 

“The carriage broke down. I think Lavinia is still waiting for another one to arrive for her. I just wanted to get home so I walked,” Claire gave account of her whereabouts and absence, “I can hold her now,” she got rid of her damp outer gown.

 

“It's alright. Better not disturb her, I think she's asleep,” Jack peered at the child from under his tussled mane and satisfied with the result, he carefully placed Brianna down on the bed, and covered her little bare feet. 

 

Claire swallowed, watching him. The sight was hurting somehow, in unexplained ways. Not that anything bad was happening, only because her emotions were running deep. This was Jamie's baby and she was being brought up by his greatest enemy that ever was. Seeing Jack gentle, acting considerate with his family, day by day, it wasn't hard to imagine this was a different man. He couldn't have been the same one who tortured Jamie at Wenthworth could he. It did not make sense and yet here he was, tucking a tot in, attentive and loving. And still, be that he only does good till his last breath, it might not entitle him to full forgiveness. She should've left a long time ago, but for Brianna's sake, it was best if she waited till Jack could give her enough money, comprising of half his earnings, so that she could comfortably provide for the child. Anything else would've been ill-considered. She was a mother now, rash decisions had to become a thing of the past. Now however, her having stayed has caused complications and their lives were about to be entwined even more thanks to an in fact rash decision she had made in the heat of the moment. “We have to talk,” she sat on her dressing table chair, facing the bed. 

 

“I'm not the one leaving the estate every day from dawn till dusk,” he reminded her somewhat reproachful. 

 

“Jack,” she started, tears welling up in her eyes. This was the last thing she had wanted, the last thing she would've ever planned. “Jack, I am with child...” She put it out there without frills, like a bombshell.

 

“Are you...are you sure?” Her putative husband was questioning with hope in his eyes lighting up the brown.

 

“As sure as can be, this early on, but all the signs are there.”

 

“If anyone is skilled enough to know, it's you,” Jack was gradually starting to believe. He looked around as if the whole world should be ligthing up different just because he was going to be a father, a real one, but ultimately his attention was drawn back to the focus of the miracle, “oh Claire. I would assume that if you wanted to get rid of it, I would've never known, so that means...”

 

“Yes,” Claire confirmed with a cool and even head as opposed to Jack's myriad of emotions that filtered through his gravelly voice. “Given how hard it is for me to concieve or bring a child to term, I have decided to keep it.”

 

Jack's eyes darted from side to side, brain going a hundred miles an hour. Then he stepped forward and took her hand, “I promise you Claire Fraser that I will do everything possible to keep you and the child safe,” he pledged, all the difficulties that came with the pregnancy, especially if the woman was Claire, only just occurring to him.

 

Claire bobbed her head in the affirmative, “I know, Jack.” She sighed in relief. The trained nurse never doubted that his reaction would be positive. Somehow, sharing the burden made her feel more secure, safe and allowed the floodgate of emotions to open as she didn't need to be strong, not by herself. She closed the distance between them and leaned her head into his shoulder, “I trust you.”

 

Jack pulled her closer and squeezed gently. It had taken years of them living together, her not seeing any of his cruelty from him for all that time, and she eventually came to trust him. At some level, the past would always be there, but her words were proof that their relationship changed axially and perhaps it also meant he was a different person. For her, he would be. Was this love? Maybe not, but it still felt like that when he was with her, he was cared for, he was home. All the precious things to him in the world were in the room with him. Jamie? He didn't fit.

 

Tbc


	22. Remake

Chapter 22: Remake

 

Two Years Later

 

Claire started when Jack burst through into the bedroom. All the furniture rattled as the heavy oakwood door banged against the wall, but Jack didn't seem to mind or notice. He even topped it up with banging a fist onto the desk that had been brought into the bedroom months back so that he could write letters comfortably. 

 

“Will I need my kit to bandage your knuckles?” Claire commented offhandedly. Jack's wild outbursts didn't disconcert her-it was never his open and sudden anger that had to be feared but rather what was boiling under. 

 

Her nonchalance earned her a murderous look, but then Jack sat in his chair as if all the fight would've went out of him. “I can't do this anymore,” he rubbed his fingers against his temples. 

 

Claire didn't have to ask what. While William transferred all the responsibilities of an estate stewart to his only surviving brother, the older Randall could never completely stay out of administrative and monetary affairs, questioning many of the decisions Jack made and secretly using an accountant to make sure his brother didn't pocket more than he was due in accordance with their agreement. To be fair, Claire didn't even expect Jack to last this long, regardless of how both her and him needed to gather some funds to be able to move on. “I thought you were going to wait till you hear back from the army.”

 

Jack gave her a glace, expression speaking of demur. “Oh, that,” he said dispiritedly. “Mail arrived from headquarters today and it could mean we might just have to stay longer.”

 

“Do they not want you back?”

 

“They do. I just don't suppose you'd like to see me in charge of Ardsmuir Prison,” he grunted.

 

“Ardsmuir? In Scotland?” Claire guessed by the name. Since Jack had been in relatively good health for months, he had ventured to offer his services to the crown once more. Managing an estate wasn't really his thing, especially with him not being the owner. 

 

Jack gave a minute nod. “North of Ullapool.”

 

“MacKenzie land...” Claire frowned wearily, hoping she was somehow wrong. 

 

“The MacKeznie lands are run on behalf of government commission,” he reminded her. 

 

The sentence marked the beginning of a long silence. Neither of them wanted to go there, physically or in thought. It was a part of a past they never wanted to revisit and yet their situation in Sussex was getting more and more uncertain by the day. Even if Jack kept at his current role, William would have enough of it sooner or later, and they would be asked to leave. Finding a standing with the army seemed a logical step, only they were hoping for a station in England, the colonies or basically anywhere else in the world apart from Scotland. And MacKenzie land and a prison out of all things possible was that was on offer and Claire knew just as well as Jack that they couldn't very well choose. An assignment was an assigment and there was nothing he could do about it if he was to rejoin the army. 

 

“What do you know about the place?” Claire tried to re-evaluate the given facts. It was after all, seeing Jack in that uniform that scared her the most, and not the location. 

 

“It was transformed into a prison after the rising,” he said slowly due to it being with very little enthusiasm, “for the keeping of round two hundred Jacobites, give or take.”

 

Claire paused, digesting the information, “you have to take the assignment.” 

 

“I was afraid you would say that. I know what you are going to ask. You realise I can't just set them free, do you.”

 

“You realise you still have a debt to pay. The latest is that I gave you a daughter, your own flesh and blood.”

 

His eyes smiled at the pure mention of little Sissy. “You realise women don't have as much say in this century,” he held, in full awareness of her tales of women taking on different roles and responsibilities in the twentieth century. “Not to mention how much use my captaincy will be for supporting the family if I get court marshalled instead.” 

 

“It will have to be done carefully and step by step, without raising suspicion.”

 

Jack closed his eyes and groaned, “maybe I could've stayed and endured for a while longer, but of course that's a non-issue after me mentioning the commision, I knew that.”

 

“There might be someone I know there, a Fraser or MacKenzie, there's every chance. There has to be a way to make it easier, at least for them. I promise I will be careful.”

 

“Hold on. We don't even know yet if the officers' quarters cater for families, I shall find out with the next correspondence,” he introduced his only quasi-valuable card for a chance to keep her away.

 

“It doesn't matter. I can stay in a nearby village with the children. That's allowed, right, I've seen it done,” Claire shot his argument immediately down. 

 

“Sissy is still very young, she should stay here with you. No reason to take her into hostile conditions,” he tried to contend, even though he knew it was to no avail. If Claire's heart was set on something, all that could be said was futile.

 

Claire stood up and closed the distance between them to take his hands and pull him over to the bed, so they could both sit. She lay her head on one of his shoulders then and encirled his front with an arm in a private and personal way, the intimacy between them overt, even though the conception of Sissy was the only time they went all the way. Her hold was strong, as if her hands could solidify the connection that developped between them over the last few years. “Jack,” she breathed out. It wasn't a simple reiteration of his name, but the embodiment of all their history together, not even his name at all. To everyone here he was John, Master Randall, Johnny, Jonathan. To her, he was Jack, with all that the nickname could confer-a distant pang that reminded them of who he was as 'Black Jack' and the singularity of who he was for her and her appreciation for the change in his practices with it. “I want to be there. I don't want to lose MY Jack. The situation, your reputation in the army, the position you will be put in, it could be inevitable to fall in with old habits.” She shook her head, “no way I'm losing my Jack.”

 

“You are probably right not to trust me,” he allowed. Not as if he cared any more about the Scots than previously. The honesty between them was inevitable, they knew each other too much for any way else. 

 

“Then you'll take me. We will figure something out.”

 

“The only saving grace could be that you're not as hot-headed as you used to be. Though, your mouth, I still don't trust either.” 

 

Claire gave him a poke for his observation. “Seriously, Claire,” he extracted himself from her arms to look her in the eyes sternly. “You are coming as an English officer's wife and you will have to comport yourself accordingly. Otherwise all will be over before it starts.”

 

“Alright, alright, I give you that. I'll behave.”

 

“I'm so not looking forward to this.” He knew that if the undertaking did nothing else than bring up the past, it would already be putting strain on their relationship, but in all honesty he could well foresee all the arguments they would have over his duties and the many instances Claire would go on her own way without consulting him. And yet, they couldn't stay on the estate. He brought a gentle hand to her cheek and caressed her jaw, making her look up at him. The foreboding turmoil was already in her eyes too and it wasn't something he could stand. His pleasuring of her never included the intimacy of kisses, but this time he felt like he needed to close the gap that would inevitably rise between them, stuff it into submission, keep her close with all that he had. He kissed her softly, slowly, tenderly, meeting somewhat to his surprise, with no resistance. 

 

She melted against him as before, hands joining in to keep them together. The kiss deepened as if on its own accord, hungry and desperate, with neither of them really wishing this next step, where their connection will be tested and tried in the outside world. They tore away only to look into each other's eyes again, for certitude, for reassurance, for hope and promise. The carnal wasn't where they would go, it did not have much role in the bond they had. Jack scooted up the bed and pulled her with him and they spent the rest of the night holding onto each other instead. 

 

Tbc


	23. Upgrade

Chapter 23: Upgrade 

 

"We only changed horses two hours ago," Claire commented somewhat startled when Jack turned the cart they travelled with towards the next village. It would've been quicker to ride, but they had the wagon for the sake of their little girls, Brianna and Sissy. Denys, the big six year old, insisted on taking turns guiding the horses, sometimes by riding on one, or by being a lookout in the back. 

 

Jack glanced out to the front at the oldest child before he answered, "what would you think of leaving the children with the innkeeper's wife for a half an hour or so? I am sure Denys would appreciate getting the chance to look around at the Old Blacksmith's Shop, infatuated he is with horses." 

 

Claire looked at him rather confused, "I thought we were behind schedule, due to the children's needs no less." 

 

"I am certain you are glad Scotland retained the right to apply much of his own laws and we are just arriving north of the border shortly." 

 

The statement didn't make her any less confused, just somewhat weary. "I don't understand what you're referring to." She looked at him suspiciously all of a sudden, old, forgotten habits raising their heads to make her feel on edge. It was Scottish law that saved her from him once and that wasn't an occasion she wanted reminded of or was ever mentioned. 

 

"As you must know, Scots law allows irregular marriages to be recognised by both church and authority and just about anybody can conduct them. I've heard that the new way of those who elope is to ask the blacksmith at Greta Green, at the first stop into Scotland one can make." 

 

"Jack?" Claire questioned with a different kind of weariness seeping into her awareness as a vague speculation on where he was going with this started to take shape at the back of her mind. 

 

He turned towards her, "we lived as married in the eyes of the world for over six years. I think we should make it the truth before you pose as my wife in a military settling. You know, just in case. For your protection." 

 

"You think I will be doing something rash that would raise suspicion in regards to my loyalties." She summarised her assumption. 

 

"Yes, that is a factor that makes this step necessary, I can't deny it, but that isn't why I want to marry you. I want marry you because you are one of a kind and I cannot imagine anyone more precious to have and to hold..." 

 

"And hold it right there, Jack," she pushed at his chest with both palms, suddenly the close quarters becoming too tight, "a scrap of paper would not change anything about how much I would be yours, not in my century, not in my mind, not in yours dreams if I can help it! We are together out of necessity, circumstances and nothing more and that hasn't changed." Although she was cross with him for the sudden suggestion, she kept her tone and its volume in check for the sake of the children. 

 

Jack looked a little perturbed by the claim. "Nothing's changed? If nothing else, then what about Sissy? Your plan is still to leave me and for her to go fatherless? I'm not asking for myself, just think of the child, Claire." 

 

"Not right now, I wouldn't leave," she appeased. 

 

"When, then?" He demanded, anger boiling just below the surface, making him want to smash things again.

 

"As soon as we have sufficient funds to find livelyhood in the Americas, as was always the plan."

 

Jack looked away to calm himself. This kind of tension was not good for his stomach and he was feeling it churn already. "So all I've done for the last six years counts for nothing you say? Think about the children! It is one thing that my family accepted my word, but not all will take you at face value. If anyone looks, there is no record of us ever being married anywhere. A later date is better than never. I will not let Sissy grow up a bastard. What else do you need me to do? Name it and I shall," he tossed the words at her, feeling entitled to his anger. 

 

Claire regarded him somewhat bewildered and taken aback, "there must be some kind of mistake, a difference in how we view this partnership we established between us. My role was to keep your health in check and yours was to provide for the children, was that not the arrangement?" 

 

"Is that all there is between us." He grunted at her sarcastically, questioningly. 

 

"What else would there be?" Claire shook her head innocently. 

 

The straight answer would've been his love for her, obstensibly not reciprocated. "Damn you and all Frasers and MacKenzies, with their mud bathed lands and unnecessary customs, and Scotland with it, all! What need does England have for its wretched weather and backwards people! What it is, is burden and heartache!" 

 

Claire looked around for the children's reactions at the outburst. It was clear it was loud enough for even Denys to hear it over the sounds of the moving cart. "I'm sure His Majesty's commanders would be very happy to hear that opinion," she retorted petulantly. 

 

He shook his head dismissively, "I was always supposed to be stationed in the colonies to start with," he supplied the information Claire had never been aware of, "but of course the Duke of Sandringham had to have me close enough to be able to be summoned at will and so he interfered and had my mission changed," he rolled his eyes, tone bitter. "Much use we were to each other. But he would take Alex, so what choice did I have." 

 

"Are you really going to be angry and vent at everything just because I didn't give you an answer you liked?"

 

"Believe me, the Duke deserves my anger, for one." 

 

"I don't doubt it." She would never ask of course, but not being aware of any outside evidence for the services Jack could provide the aristocrat, they could only have been of a personal nature. Claire had filed that revelation in her brain a long time ago and never felt like it was anything but justice being served, but now it occurred to her that Jack must've been really young at the time, had barely joined the army and did not have the reputation of a ruthless subjugator yet. If his first encounters with the carnal were through the vain trickster, would it be any surprise he emulated the older man's conduct both in public and personal situations. But no, she shouldn't excuse his deeds, some things were beyond that, she reminded herself of the memories she had spent years repressing. Yet it was logic that forced her to remember that, her heart was telling her to consider otherwise. This was Jack, her Jack, sitting despondent and at a loss in front of her, someone she had had a hard time ignoring the sufferings of, as if they were indeed man and wife. He was not wrong, making whatever was between them official could come beneficial for the children at some point, and herself too. Driven by his obvious distress, she reached out a hand to touch the side of his cheek, unruly hair getting entangled in her fingers, "the Duke. How was he with you. In private." She had to know. It was as if somehow everything, his worth and with it, their relationship depended on that answer. 

 

His eyes conveyed uncertainty when he looked up into her eyes, "that was a long time ago, Claire."

 

"You never talked about it." 

 

"I didn't think it was a suitable topic for conversation," he established sarcastically. 

 

"Tell me," she begged, "tell me the circumstances, the when and the how, what was required and what the relations entailed." 

 

Jack grunted in displeasure and another look at the children was due. Denys was of course still out of earshot and the girls were too little to understand the matter. "Now?" 

 

"Now," she confirmed, and nodded for emphasis and encouragement. 

 

The man with the ponytail regarded her contemplatively, his subconscious edging towards the answer on why this was so important right at this moment. He could give her the answer that she wanted to hear, the answer that would give the most results. Incidentally, the same answer was also the truth. He sighed, "Alex was always a sickly child, to the annoyance of father, who didn't know what to do with him. It was clear that my brother was not cut out for strenuous work of any kind and given his dubious health, father did not want to invest vast sums in his education either. Only chance remained if some noble thought Alex useful enough for a study based apprenticeship. I do not know how the Duke's name came up, but somehow it did pretty early on and I don't doubt Clarence had had a hand in that himself." 

 

"Clarence." Claire's brows furrowed at the mention of the Duke's first name. She had only been vaguely aware of the high born aristocrat's given name and she was also quite startled at Jack using it so casually. 

 

"Alex wasn't the only young boy he kept around or invited over for a trial period before any apprenticeship could begin." 

 

"Alex?" Claire reeled back perturbed. "You don't mean Alex was..." She brought the volume of her voice even lower, "abused?" 

 

"No, not at all. I am certain Alex would've told me and I saw no evidence of such a thing in his psyche. No. I travelled with him to deliver him at his destination, he still barely passed the years of childhood and none of us trusted his ability to get there in one piece. The Duke largely disregarded him at first sight, but insisted I should stay," he shrugged, "well, I stayed. You know the rest." 

 

"Not exactly," she said slowly, encouraging him further. Touching the subject could prove precarious for both of them, so she threaded carefully, but hearing what she wanted to hear was absolutely vital for the future of their relationship. "Was he controlling? Possessive? Forceful?"

 

"Manipulative and unpredictable, like in everything else," Jack felt the strange need for evasiveness. He knew Claire needed to hear the truth for both their sakes, it's just that he never talked about this to anyone. 

 

"Did he hurt you." She wouldn't let it lie. 

 

"Did he hurt me," Jack grunted. Then he gave the ghost of a shrug, "the old snoutband knew his fine art and was very particular about his administering of clisters and plugs for best results. Never entered me much, but liked to fill me up with other things." His hand went to his lower belly on its own accord, phantom pain resurfacing. 

 

Claire closed her eyes against the finding for a moment and sighed deeply as she opened them. Previous trauma to his colon through the overuse of enemas made sense as a factor in him later developing Crohn's, not to mention that the early clyster syringes were anything but hygenic. It would've not just hurt, but also cause lasting damage. She shook her head as a barrier to the knowledge, not wanting to uncover more. "How far are we from this village?" She peered out, moving the canvas aside. The rather flat terrain revealed several low lying, brick dwellings in a cluster to the right. 

 

Jack regarded her uncertainly, prompting her to smile at him reservedly and pull close, arms around him, a hand touching his belly on instinct as he had before. She didn't like the idea of him hurting, the fact that there had been no one there to process with, what happened with him. Alex would surely have been willing, had he not been so young or known at all. But she was there for him now and he was there for her, that much was certain, "I will marry you. Becoming a Randall again..." She mused distractedly, "it has to be fate." 

 

"Really?" Jack turned to be able to look at her, sparkles in his eyes dancing to animate his whole being to an impersonation of a kid in a candy shop. Almost innocent, unreal. 

 

"Really," she promised, benevolence engulfing her whole being. While their sexual endeavours were generally more of a lascivious nature, a loving and tender kiss came natural to her at this time. His lips responded with a featherlike touch, almost like a breath, hesitant, impossibly soft and affectionate. A man who kissed like that could know no evil, right? 

 

"I love you Claire," he declared, eyes still closed and holding her next to him. That, maybe she was less comfortable with, a step too far and somewhat questionable she would find. 

 

"Have you been here before?" She extracted herself from his arms and directed her attentions to the road again. 

 

"No. But if the hearsay was wrong, we can find someone at the church," he eyed the belltower amongst the buildings in the distance. 

 

Claire nodded, logic returning to her. Brianna had to have a licit father, for all eventuality. Or that was what she told herself for being the reason for agreeing to marry. 

 

Tbc


	24. Reverse

Chapter 24: Reverse 

 

Claire never liked waking to an empty bed, especially in Scotland, where temperatures usually sank during the night, no matter how relatively warm it had gotten during the day. Having acknowledged Jack's absence with a frown, she looked over to the other bed the children were given and found them reassuringly all still asleep. Why Jack didn't wake any of them though was quite puzzling judging by how high the sun was up the sky. No matter how clean and welcoming this particular inn was for a change, it wasn't like they didn't have ground to make up for. 

 

Apprehensive of the occurrence, she fingered her wedding rings for a moment idly, her look lingering on the newest one just added to the collection. She hadn't expected Jack to give her one, but she quietened her doubts about its origin. It was simple enough, with no Celtic motives, no reason for her to suspect loot and question him about it, would be rather bounderish of her too if she did. While she had no idea how he could've acquired the gold band without spending a considerable amount of their precious and vital savings, it would've been untrusting of her to assume its origin being anything sinister. That would be the workings of an old habit, nothing more. She kind of really liked it actually, the 'quicumque ego postulo est vos'-'all that I need is you' inscription was very sweet of him and reminded Claire of her no small achievement of taming that seemingly uncontrollable man. She held the reigns. Only, where was he right now? The newly-wed reached for her petticoats and pulled them on while still under the covers to protect herself from the cold air, her gown however she barely had time for before she heard the unmistakable sounds of retching, coming from outside. Her weariness increasing, she never buckled her shoes to stumble out, hoping the delay to the journey wasn't because Jack was too unwell to continue. "What's wrong?" She rushed to his aid instinctively, one hand going to his arm to support him as he leaned forward on shaky legs, her other hand on his back for comfort. 

 

"Don't." It was all he managed between panting and spitting, but he did shift to pull away and out her arms. 

 

His behaviour puzzled Claire. "What is it?" She hovered on edge, frustrated by perplexity. 

 

"I will be alright in a moment," he promised as soon as he could, though his hand remained firmly digging into his belly, while his other arm he needed to support himself against the wall. 

 

"Don't be ridiculous, let me help." Claire edged closer, itching to get him inside to sit down. Why would he all of a sudden reject her proficiency in dealing with illness when it came to this particular day. "You don't look so good," she reached out again, but he pulled away once more. 

 

"You don't want to touch me right now," Jack straightened and marched off towards the door, albeit going round her, seemingly completely in control of his body for anyone looking, it was only Claire who knew better. 

 

The similarly stubborn woman followed him back inside rather bewildered, "what have you done?" She frowned suspiciously, icicle settling in her stomach in dread. 

 

"The Duke considers my assignment commencing the moment I read this letter," he produced a rolled up sheet of paper from his pocket and eyed it for a bit, motionless and distracted. "I need to get my uniform on," he finally concluded and purposefully stepped to the duffel he carried his belongings in, focusing on something that could ground him and stop him from thinking too much into the situation at hand. The way everything was lost already, he may as well go the full distance and pull that ominous, ill-remembered, fateful clothing item out.

 

Claire recoiled on instinct, half shaking her head in confusion. Knowing Jack had been postponing the moment as much as she had been, she had to ask, “aren't we still about short of two days away?”

 

Having no patience for unpacking, Jack poured the contents of the bag out. Having located the offending item, now at the top of the emptied pile, he threw off his woollen vest to replace it with the finely spun version he had for under the coat. With his breeches and his shirt already being the right colour, it was only the scarlet redcoat to follow and then he stood before her like he had been on their first encounter, only...Claire gave a big, relieved sigh and closed the distance between them to put a hand to his cheek. She had dreaded the sight for months and now she knew it would not change a thing. Not with that expression of love and devotion towards her that characterised his every move. Feeling the weight of the moment, she wanted to soften it, “say the words,” she suggested, “say it Jack.”

 

“Say what?” He started, narrowing his eyes in question, but then he understood what she wanted. He swallowed and looked into her eyes, “all that I am is yours, Claire Randall Fraser, you know that already,” he reached and kissed her hand, gentlemanly, serious, “and I will be, no matter what.”

 

Claire nodded, reassuringly, for both of them and pulled him close for a kiss that was soft and brief because he pulled away, though his mouth lingered a breath from hers for a few moments before he turned to the side and gave himself over to the reality of their lives. He squeezed her hands and transferred a sheet of rough paper into them, ink rather runny with the weather conditions it has been through. “It's a list of the prisoners I am to be in charge of at Ardsmuir.” Then he stepped away, and further to the wall, waiting for the fallout, knowing nothing will ever be the same. 

 

The woman he shared his bed with moved towards the window, closer to the light so she could see the scrambled letters. Based on his behaviour, she was expecting to see familiar names on the parchment. However, nothing prepared her for what she saw there, clear as day, written in the careful calligraphic of a skilful scribe, at the top of the list, as principal captive and representative of the rest of the prisoners: 'James Alexander MacKenzie Fraser, Lord Broch Tuarach, known as fearsome Red Jamie, Stuart's right hand.' Claire shook her head in disbelief-no that could not be, she had seen the stone hadn't she, she had even seen a list of captives to be executed, Jamie's name was there, so how could it be here, now? She sank to the bed with the shock, half the clogs of her brain stuck and the other half going a hundred miles an hour, igniting emotions and hopes long forgotten and buried. “How could this be?” She finally voiced what her mind kept going back to, “can he be alive?” And if he was, how will she face him, having lived with Jack for all these years, there would be no excuse or explanation Jamie could understand. Guilt was hitting her hard, for not looking harder, for feeling all the things she hadn't gotten round to name that she had come to feel for Jack. From exhilaration to despair and back again half a dozen times before she actually looked up at Jack for an answer for something that wasn't just her talking to herself. 

 

“I do not know, but it's true.” He clasped his hands behind his back to mentally support himself. “The accompanying letter mentions Colonel Hamilton wanting me to be on my guard because of his presence especially, fearing for unrest that had previously been noted at the prison.”

 

“Jamie...” The two syllables expressed everything she had been thinking about and the longing and apprehension with it as well, nothing Jack hadn't thought about before, his stomach still churned with the upheaval of it all. “Oh Jamie,” Claire put a hand to her mouth as if keeping the words in could keep from existing all the horrors that the Scotsman could've experienced at the prison and keep the impossible situation they stood in at bay as well. She knew only one thing for sure, that one way or another, she would find a way to free Jamie. 

 

Jack dared to come closer and sit beside her on the bed, albeit further than he otherwise would have, “first we will have to see the place and measure up circumstances to come up with a plan, not acting hotheaded is key,” he advised, “nobody should know the nature of the relationship between the primary prisoner and the captain's wife,” he tripped on the word. Truthfully, if Jamie was alive, that would make him Claire's second husband, at the same time. So not something that would hold up in a court of law as matrimony. “I'm sure he wouldn't give us away, but perhaps it's better if I arrived on my own to start with. I can prepare him for your arrival then.”

 

Claire made wide eyes, looking at the children who were just stirring at the commotion. Brianna, Jamie's child, raised by Jack and a child she had together with Jamie's sworn enemy. No, she couldn't face him either, not just yet. All of a sudden, the out Jack offered was very convenient. She seriously needed to get herself and a story together and even then, Jamie would never forgive her. “Two days?” She bargained with herself more than anyone else, “it's a nice place, this inn, the children enjoy climbing the old trees in the back. We wait for two days and then we follow you. That should be enough time, right?” 

 

“Yes, it should be,” Jack was very grateful Claire had agreed. He had to judge the lie of the land for himself first, Claire's obstinate and chaotic ways would've hindered that. As for Jamie, he would've had to lie to himself if he would've wanted to pretend that the news didn't fill some part of him with joy and yet as always, everything was complicated with that damn Scot. There was no doubt in his mind that this revelation meant that his little, idyllic family would dissipate into the ether like the illusion that it always was. He almost laughed out loud at the irony-he had kept his word to take care of Claire, perhaps a little too well and that was some satisfaction he could rub under Jamie's nose. He stood, not touching Claire for the good bye, their usual intimacy would feel awkward now. “I will send someone out to meet you and assist.” With that, he fished his captain's hat out the pile of clothes as well and left to acquire a horse for the last part of his journey.

 

Tbc


	25. Leather, As It Were

Chapter 25: Leather, As It Were

 

“What is going on here Leftenant?” The question was Jack's first undertaking on the new job on arrival to the hard to find, dismal fortress, surely a punishment to live in both for prisoners and captors. 

 

“Captain Randall?” The questioned showed surprise at his intended superior materialising in the mist. 

 

“In the flesh,” the newcomer dismounted, “my mare needs rest, but I would be happy to take over command for whatever endeavours the men were sent out for if you could give me a different horse, Leftenant...the name escapes me,” he admitted, though he had seen the full roll of both his captives and subordinates.

 

“George Adderton, Sir,” the thin officer provided him with the information. “There's no need for concern, I can assure you, everything is under control now,” he frowned sheepishly, “the men are simply leaving to let the others know that the search can be called off. We have all the prisoners, all one hundred and ninety six of them.”

 

Jack looked at him sideways and stern, “am I to understand that you have lost some of the prisoners entrusted to your tending?”

 

“Yes, Sir, but no. As you must be well aware, there is nowhere to escape to, nowhere to go around here. Empty, treacherous moorland all around for days' worth of travelling at the backside of the country, savage at that, with the trifle incommodious Scottish weather.”

 

“Are you trivialising the matter Leftenant!”

 

“No, Sir.” Adderton looked guilty, “it's just the way it has always been around here, if I may. It has never been a difficult matter for prisoners to escape from Ardsmuir. There is a reason why nobody wants to live around here. The seacliffs drop into the ocean three miles away and there was an incident a few years back when someone got loose to end their lives there, but this isn't the case this time. We have recaptured the fugitive, currently in solitary confinement, awaiting punishment I am glad to hand over responsibility for, along with the rest of the duties that come with the position.”

 

“Are you really going to give me a full report here, or can we get out the rain?” Jack started impatiently. 

 

“Oh, I apologise, Captain. I am simply so used to the rain being on all the time that I have forgotten others might not be. This way, Sir,” he took the reigns of Jack's horse and showed the way by manoeuvring the animal round mountains of peat plausibly gathered there for the renovations of the fortress. “Get the Captain's quarters ready at once!” He barked at a scraggly man as soon as they entered the gatehouse, clearly used to giving orders in the absence of a superior the Crown had always had difficulties replacing at this particular part of the back of beyond. 

 

No more words were spoken till he had his captain seated by the fire in what appeared to be a small study on the first floor of the main building, a generous helping of whiskey in hand Jack didn't really have much inclination to refuse, with dubious near future effects on his stomach or not. He had almost forgotten how deep the cold could seep into the bones with the unrelenting Scottish wind and rain, something he was once used to and could still undoubtedly cope with, but liking it was another matter. 

 

“The alcohol-the one thing the Scots do well,” Adderton mused, raising his glass, “to Ardsmuir's new commander in charge,” he called.

 

“Alright,” Jack sat down his glass after draining every sip of its contents. His direct subordinate sounded accepting of the existing rank difference between them, but he knew that the concept will have to be reinforced in Adderton's mind for safety's sakes by Jack establishing his authority in an unquestionable way at some point soon. “Now. Tell me what has happened.”

 

“I'm afraid I hadn't gotten round to interrogate the prisoner, Sir. He was only just brought back prior to your arrival. It makes no sense however, the escape, none of it does,” the lieutenant sounded puzzled. 

 

“You must be missing something then,” Jack suggested, glad of the opening. Given the happenstance, he might be able to deem Adderton incompetent sooner, rather than later. “I shall interrogate the convict myself,” he grabbed the opportunity, certain of his methods of interrogation to get to the truth. 

 

“Bring him in,” the man formerly in charge ordered the sentry at the door, who set off at once to forward the order. 

 

“What instruments you have here in lieu of interrogation?” Jack enquired offhandedly, putting it out there as a statement that he took no nonsense, “a peine forte et dure set perhaps?” He started with asking for the only torture device still lawful for use in the country, a set of larger and larger stones that were supposed to be placed on the litigator's chest in order till they either confessed or died. “If there's no commonsensible reason to escape around here, then there must be a plan in motion the escapee was setting up and we need to know what it is.

 

“We have a peine forte et dure,” Adderton admitted somewhat wearily. He was not against violence, by no means, but usually the harsh conditions around the place were sufficient enough for both effective punishment and threats. 

 

“What are you waiting for then.” The newcomer looked pointedly at him.

 

Adderton slunk over to the doorway, avoiding further conflict with his Captain as reality was starting to sink in, he was in charge no more. “Chapman,” he barked at the remaining sentry, “have someone prepare the peine forte et dure.”

 

“Where...where is that?” The poor sentinel did not want to argue with a superior either, but he genuinely had no idea they even possessed the kind of instrumentation.

 

“Ask Hamilton.” The lieutenant seemed to be at a loss as well, “he does the inventory. And nimble, Captain's orders!” He added as a motivator, then caught the glance of the prisoner as he was being brought in wearing heavy irons on both his hands and legs. “Captain Randall, this is the man who had caused the fuss, a formal chieftain, James Fraser, if you've heard about him.”

 

Jack regarded the entrant frozen to the spot. Of course, he should've known that the troublemaker would be no other than the bullheaded Scot. He had been expecting the moment when he met Jamie again, playing it over in his mind in different ways a million times and one of the scenarios he'd imagined, fantasised about if he wanted to admit to himself, was the Highlander being brought to him for punishment, for him to do as he pleased, and yet the circumstances and the weight of the moment still surprised him. His eyes devoured the sight: it looked like captivity could not make the living fire in Jamie fade. No matter the beard, the thinner frame or the pull of the chains, with those stubborn, unwavering eyes and the stance of a warrior, Jack was sure that the Laird of Lallybroch would yield no more easily than any other times. It also surprised him that the flames of adoration in him for the man would rekindle so easily, though of course it couldn't be any other way. He had once been in love with Jamie, he was his first love, that if he didn't count the inappropriate feelings he had for Alex as they should have not been counted since he never acted upon those.

 

The nonresponsivenes of his superior was interpreted by Adderton as puzzlement. “I should've said Red Jamie, everybody who has dealt with Jacobites would know that name.”

 

“We are well acquainted,” Jamie answered for him, enjoying the little reaction of disruption and startlement the announcement caused. 

 

“You don't seem surprised to see me,” Jack established.

 

“Some of my men overheard the name, that it is Black Jack who was taking over.”

 

“Your men.” The Captain's forehead creased. “Traditional rights of jurisdiction afforded to Scottish clan chieftans over population has been abolished by the crown if you haven't heard.”

 

Jamie gave a half hearted shrug, “no Frasers or MacKenzies here, but the men reckon me their leader for some grounds or another and as such, a canna take it lightly and disappoint them. Which is why a had ta leave before your reaching and collect as much arrowgrass and sea radish as possible, in case measures are stricter aft. A canna verra well let them die of scurvy in there. A only wish my sack ta be given to them afore I'm to be taken for punishment. Some of the prisoners are in a dire way.” 

 

Adderton snorted, “such an intelligent man as yourself cannot be serious suggesting he escaped to collect grass!” The smaller man gave him the wide eye. 

 

Jack however was only surprised Jack had volunteered to disclose his cause. “What are the prisoners given as alimentation?” He questioned his subordinate.

 

“Porridge, on Sundays mixed with chunks of meat.”

 

“In that case, it is critical to have some greens if we want them to work for us effectively.”

 

“Greens, Sir?” Adderton couldn't help himself.

 

“Yes.” Jack established firmly, “it is good for vitality, to ward off infection and for digestion too.” It was perfectly clear from the diet Claire had prescribed for him, with the proof of his own experience to know it was correct too.

 

Jamie almost stopped breathing as he regarded his archenemy suspiciously, “aye and a ken just the one root you would'a heard that.”

 

“What?” Adderton looked from one to the other and back, at a loss. 

 

“Search his sack, see if he's telling the truth,” Jack ordered the guards who brought in the escapee, for appearances' sakes. Jamie wasn't a liar, he knew that much and there was no reason for him to start now. 

 

“All green and wet in here,” the quicker of the two soldiers reported, just as puzzled as Adderton had been. 

 

“Very well,” Jack summarised his meaning. “Get that mush to its intended destination.”

 

There was a pause, in which Adderton looked like he was going to question his new superior's sanity for believing that tale, but then he thought better of it, “and the punishment for escaping, with whatever purpose that was?”

 

“Well, what is the customary punishment for such a deed around here?”

 

“Fifty lashes, Sir.”

 

tbc


	26. Marionette

Chapter 26: Marionette

 

Jack waved a hand flippantly in the air, “leave us,” he ordered all the soldiers in the room. He would be alone with Jamie in just a moment, that was part of the plan all along and circumstances allowed that it should happen sooner rather than later. However, everything else was more complicated than he had anticipated. From previous experience, there was no doubt in his mind that Jamie would take the flogging as bravely and brazenly as ever, but if there was any doubt with the appearance of Claire's other husband, the act being his first deed in command of the fortress was surely the end of everything he had built together with the time traveller. And it was all Jamie's fault. Had he not escaped...

 

“You owe me an account of what came about with Claire aft a parted fe Edinburgh.” Standing as straight as the chains would allow, Jamie established firmly once they were alone. 

 

The Englishman grunted in annoyance and ran a hand through his long hair. “Do you have any idea what you have just done?” He stomped angrily, nostrils flaring.

 

“You can do anything you want with me as a am sure you will, but I trust you would not go back on your word, you're not as Black as that,” the red haired man negotiated. 

 

Jack's hand stilled, fingers entangled in his mane, then he pulled, looking like he wanted to get himself rid of his own hair, “you ruinious misbegotten-pignut!” He stomped right in front of Jamie, grabbed both sides of his prisoner's face and shook it, part of him wanting to plant a kiss on his full, bottom lip and part of him wanting to strangle the life out of him there and then. “What am I to do with you now!” 

 

“Claire.” Jamie forced the issue for the third time. “You have an obligation to tell me about Claire.” 

 

“Yes!” He admitted with an eye roll and a turning away as he had given in to the request and temporarily steered from his anger to fulfil it. “That I do.” Settling a little, he leaned his backside on the desk a few steps away and put a hand on his hips, “Claire,” he repeated the word, articulating it with the sentiment he held for her seeping into his tone to the extent Jamie's forehead creased warily at how odd to his ears it sounded, but had no time to ponder on it. “Claire will be here in two days' time to rescue your arse.”

 

“How?” Jamie's insides turned cold with trepidation and worry. “Did you not take her to Craigh na Dun.”

 

“It didn't work, her mode of time travel,” Jack volunteered the information, and proof of his knowledge about her secrets just to get it over with. There was an overwhelming urge in him to punish the other, for existing, for putting him in the situation they were in and the anger increased every time he thought about how he couldn't just slam into him till they were both senseless. Claire. Claire, Claire, Claire, Claire. The thought, the image of her smiling, the touch of her hand on his cheek. Claire. His Claire. If there was any chance he could keep the fraction of her devotion to him, then he would have to act the archetype of a perfect gentleman. “...or the bairn, man!” From the yelling and Jamie's physical closeness, Jack had to deduce that the Scot had been trying to get his attention for a while. 

 

Jack sighed and rubbed a hand across his abdomen, “forgive me, I am not feeling well.” It was true and while he had to keep appearances in front of the soldiers, at least with Jamie there was a reprieve he was glad he could take as it changed nothing about their relationship. It was tiring acting healthy when you're not. 

 

Jamie took a step back again, his features revealing that the revelation had somehow pacified him and things were maybe starting to make sense, “is Claire treating you, still, at times?” It has been a long time, but it was the only way any of this made sense, Jack being in touch with her, knowing her intentions of freeing him and possibly allowing it on the basis of some agreement they could have had, it wouldn't be the first time they have worked out deals. The Scot shook his head, “a cannae simply abandon the folk here. A will no be freed if they cannae come too, surely Claire will ken as much.” He wouldn't let himself rejoice over the prospect of seeing her, not just yet, for the complications were many and the last thing he would want is putting her in danger. They've been there too many times in the past. “Tell her a willna want her here.”

 

“And you think that would keep her back?” Jack injected sarcastically. 

 

The man with the red curls regarded him contemplatively. He would anticipate Claire's reaction to be just the same, that wasn't the puzzling matter. It was Jack's lack of menace and inappropriate advances that puzzled him. They were alone, there was no need for the older man to behave in a socially acceptable way. Jamie squinted, “what is the agreement between you two? You must owe her a great deal,” he deduced. 

 

“You have no idea,” the redcoat allowed, “I owe her my life, a few lives, many times over.” 

 

“So you have given your word to help me.” Jamie wanted to clarify without a doubt. He had not known Jack to go back on his word and if that was the case, he would have to trust his jailer, for the most part, with certain reservations of course. 

 

Jack moved his head in a non-committal gesture. He wasn't sure how to answer that. No, he hadn't given his word, per se, because he didn't have to. Claire would not imagine he would all of a sudden abandon his family and turn against his wife. Jamie was safe from him, he had to be. “I will not harm you unnecessarily.” Then he grunted in displeasure, remembering, “that flogging though, you will tell Claire when she comes that it wasn't my fault, I had to.”

 

Jamie raised his eyebrows, largely and increasingly puzzled by his behaviour, “aren't you in charge of Ardsmuir?” He teased, he couldn't help himself. By the sounds of it, Jack's hands were tied by whatever Claire held him in check with and it ticked Jamie inside. 

 

“I will have to flog you tomorrow. What kind of message would that send if I didn't! What kind of image am I propagating if I didn't! Fifty lashes. You know what fifty lashes would do?!”

 

“The usual, I expect?” Jamie recounted barefaced and brash, not understanding his real meaning.

 

“I have to be harsh and set precedence as newly appointed commanding officer of a prison. Fifty lashes are too much of a physical exertion for me. Yet I will have to pretend I am in the best of health, during and after,” Jack complained, and seemed very angered about it too. 

 

“Och, well, if it's 'your' health that's on the line...” The Highlander commented with considerable sarcasm.

 

Jack's eyes snapped back to him, “you don't understand anything! None of the consequences, none of the implications, no background!”

 

“I understand alright that within twenty-four hours of re-encountering Jack Randall, I will be tortured. It's tradition, right?” It was strange how he felt elation at the prospect, it was surely to do with how clear it was that with his recent actions he had crossed some plan Jack had.

 

“Guards!” Jack turned the volume of his voice up high. He had had enough of dealing with the Scot for one day. “I will see you tomorrow morning at the gallows,” he said as parting. It was all too overwhelming right now. His mind jumped forward, at seeing Jamie's flesh again, his naked torso, the scars that marked the man as forever his. He had to blow the air out his nose slowly to calm himself and reign in the anticipation of his first few lashes, witnessing the Scot's near unbreakable spirit at work, giving into relishing the call of what sexual pleasure his handiwork would evoke in him. Yet, when that was done, even if he allowed himself the pleasance, the negative consequences of the deed would outbalance the joy he would have out of it. And for that, he was enraged with Jamie. 

 

Tbc


	27. States of Mind

Chapter 27: State of Mind

 

“I shall leave you to rest now, M'am,” the young soldier, who was sent out to find, show the way to and bring back his wife, offered dutifully as soon as he showed her to her husband's quarters. 

 

Claire only took once glance at Jack sitting by the desk before searching the room for a place to settle the sleeping little Sissy down somewhere. He rose, understanding her meaning at once and opened a door in the back, leading to the double bed that was set up for the couple to sleep in. “Where's Denys and Brianna?” Jack inquired as soon as it was safe to assume his little girl would not wake up for the moment and could be left on her own. 

 

The mother of three left the bedroom door slightly ajar as usual, listening to her maternal instincts that told her that she should always be in earshot of her babies. “Denys wanted to see the horses and you Leftenant kindly offered.”

 

“What is it with that boy and horses.” Jack observed, more for the sake of delaying the inevitable conversation between them, rather than anything else. 

 

Claire gave him a weak smile and stepped over to him, putting her hands on his biceps, “are you alright?” She asked empathetically, her forehead leaning close to his. 

 

Jack shrugged and pulled himself out of her arms. If there had been any question at first when they've found out about Jamie's fate, it was without doubt now that she will not be happy with the developments. “Don't do that,” Claire caught one of his hands as he turned, and positioned herself once more in front of him. “Your stomach.” She put a hand on it habitually, “how has your health been?”

 

The redcoat scoffed, “I think I should pretty much learn by now how to manage my own health, thank you.”

 

Claire sighed, and shook her head, “Jack, “ she challenged his assumption, “I was...I had been dumbfounded, frozen as if struck by lighting with your news. I didn't know how to react, how to feel, what to do, what to say. I've had time to think now and I am calmer. Jamie...we will have to make him understand that you, or even me, we are not the same as we once were. He has to understand.” Claire clang rigidly to the notion, “I will explain everything to him. Did you say anything about us yet?” Her voice took on a panicked undertone. They haven't agreed on how was Jack to prepare Jamie for her visit in their confusion the last time and she would've rather preferred to tell the tale herself, hoping for a better outcome.

 

“I didn't have the chance.” For I had to beat him half to death instead. 

 

Claire nodded at that, engulfed by the planning that went on in her head. “He knows you're coming, but not in what capacity. I have repeatedly hinted at my wife being a healer when talking with subordinates however and I have a couple of ailments for you to attend to among the soldiers before I can justify letting you tend to the prisoners. And I think everybody would find it strange if you started right away, without taking the little comforts these quarters can offer first. Water has been heated up for your convenience and I am told there's fresh linen.”

 

“Of course, of course,” Claire sat down anxiously on a weatherworn chair. “I know that, I know how it goes,” she tried to convince herself. These were the kind of situations Jack has warned her of previously, not to be rash, not to act too much out the ordinary so the escape could be planned and brought to completion safely. “Is he alright?” She asked instead.

 

“Stubborn and resisting as ever. He has not changed a bit.” It was the truth, though it avoided the mention of a certain number of lashes the Scotsman took no less valiantly than before. 

 

“How did he take seeing you as the man in charge around here?” Claire worried for her second husband's mental welfare as well.

 

“I did not see a difference,” Jack provided impatiently, still on his feet. The big bombshell was coming and he couldn't even decide which bothered him more-that Jamie didn't seem fearful or act a tiny bit submissive as an aftereffect of that one night at Wentworth under the duress of similar circumstances, or that Claire was going to rain hell down upon him before long. The whole situation just felt like a big itch he could not scratch. Yet the moment wasn't right telling her, who knows what rash thing the volatile woman would do.

 

“Jack, we need to talk.” The brunette was very pointedly eyeing the chair next to hers for him to sit on. 

 

“What.” He turned on his heels to face her, ill-tempered. Of course Claire would have a lot to discuss, but all would eventually turn out to mean nothing when reflected through the light of the punishment he'd dealt. It might have been like any ordinary flogging for all onlookers, with all the wincing and looking away they do, for him, the moment was ominous, with god's bells ringing around him to trap him in a point in time where he was one with creation itself. He shook his head with the backwardness of it. Such god could be nothing else than more evil than the concept itself. 

 

“I know it's disquieting, but we have to talk about what next,” Claire misunderstood his shake of the head. “Jack, please,” she urged him with another look at the chair. 

 

“Say what you have to say,” he stood rigidly, emotions making his entire inner self oscillate, a state he was well used to conceal with solidly pursed lips. 

 

“Jamie's existence doesn't mean we have to be enemies,” she blurted out as if trying to get a weight off her chest. “It doesn't mean we have to fall into old habits.” 

 

“You mean, my old habits.”

 

“I very much hope that isn't an issue anymore, for that isn't the man I've lived with,” Claire appealed to a feeling of despair within her that she clang to, rather than anything else. He had to remain her Jack, he just had to. “I know you think everything's changed and you might've lost your family, but even that doesn't equate to erasing all the experiences of the last six years that have brought us to where we are.” If he wasn't going to sit, she stood to approach him once more. The most important thing right now, something she had been omitting due to her own mind's disarray, was to keep him grounded, bound to her and the children as she feared, with good cause, that this would be the only thing keeping him at a distance from that darkness she knew he could never truly leave behind. Her fears proved justified as he grabbed her when she got close, just to toss her away from himself, hard, and not minding where she landed. “But isn't it true, Mrs. Fraser, that legally, we are no one to each other?” He iterated coldly.

 

Claire steadied herself on the desk and raised her hand to get her rings into view, “in one way or another, none of these wedding bands mean anything in the eyes of the world as they all cancel each other out. Heaven will surely reject me as living in sin. But every one of these, they mean something to me. I could take neither off and I won't,” she promised, “I am still the same Claire, no matter the surname, who can help and support you.”

 

“You are afraid that in a position of this particular power, I will become Black Jack again,” he stated the obvious.

 

“That might be true, but that isn't why I said what I said. I do care for you, don't you see that?” 

 

Jack shook his head once, “don't bother. I already flogged him.” 

 

“What?” Some part of Claire hoped that in the short few days they've spent away from each other he'd somehow acquired a sense of humour.

 

“And I loved every moment of it,” he added, eyes taking on a dreamy glint, memories electrifying as he spoke. 

 

Tbc


	28. Damages

Chapter 28: Damages

 

Odd and out-of-the-way for behaviour of a lady or not, it had taken Claire less than two hours to work through, examine and offer a remedy for the complaints the soldiers presented with, most stemming from scurvy, other forms of malnutrition and the realities of the harsh weather. Now that it was reasonably acceptable for the newly arrived healer to move on to the prisoners, she could still feel the incredulous and weary eyes of Jack's second in command on her, whatever his name was, as she descended to the cells one of the English soldiers, seemingly sympathetic to the cause for a change, directed her to, where the chieftain who had been flogged the day before was kept in solitary, as a continuation of his punishments. 

 

Naturally, Claire couldn't care less what anyone thought and how her actions reflected on her supposed husband. Jack was nobody to her after this, though she would have to play along for a bit to establish a position here at Ardsmuir that was favourable for the escape. Right now however, she was too angry and concerned for Jamie to completely abide by her guise, something she knew in her right mind she would have to smooth out later, fit in, be less outwardly caring of the prisoners.

 

The cold at the lower levels was pronounced and she could see groups of men huddled together behind bars, though their murmurs were lively enough and she even got a whistle as she walked by, her being the only woman those would've seen for months. Claire didn't mind the reception right now either, focussed on getting to her destination, a lot smaller cell than she was used to seeing, with room barely just enough for a woven mat and a bucket for urinating. 

 

With her mind set on reaching Jamie as soon as possible, only the peripheries of her consciousness registered the animal hides under and over him, clearly a luxury amongst the captives. And yet as much as she had been rushing all the way there, the sight of the features of the man she loved, the tangled red curls and unmistakable nose made her halt, heart beating erratically between joy and worry. She had thought she had lost him forever, but the occasion wasn't a joyous one at the moment. Jamie never stirred at her arrival either and that could not be a good sign, nor his trembling under the covers or his flushed face in the gripping cold. 

 

“Jamie..” Claire dropped to her knees beside him, reaching out to his cheek, half out of want, half to check his temperature, drawing his messy hair gently out the way to touch. Her palm stayed there for a while on its own accord, her mangled soul soothed somewhat and reaching out for its other half. She had achieved this, she was finally with Jamie. Claire drew a long, shaky breath and somehow, her whole self seemed to relax and become focussed on the task once more. No, his fever wasn't high and there weren't telltale smells of infected wounds. She could only smell the dried blood, but she would have to check to know for sure. The brunette was just about to finally move her hand when Jamie's moved towards hers, down her forearm to her fingers, clutching at them tightly. 

 

“Sassenach...?” He breathed disbelievingly, reluctant to open his eyes for wanting the apparition to be true. 

 

“Yes, yes Jamie, it's me,” she surged forward to bring her lips to his, soothing, desperate, reassuring, her instant tears making way to his grime covered face, cleaning some of the dirt off inadvertently in the process. 

 

“I wasn't sure if he was taunting me, that you would really come,” Jamie's arm moved to encircle her, but he didn't find that enough and manoeuvred himself to sit and hold her tight against him despite the injuries. 

 

Claire took care not to touch his back, but clang to his arms and buried her face into his neck, finding strength in him, knowing he was well and strong already, despite circumstances. “I need to see you, I need to see your back,” she pulled away purposefully at last.

 

Jamie was nothing but smiles when she looked at him. “Aye, that's my lass. Dinna fash yersel, I've had worse.”

 

“Already scarred tissue will take longer to heal,” Claire pulled out from his arms and peeked behind tentatively. The hides fell off him as he rose and she expected she would see the gashes. 

 

The Highlander shook his head, “that scoundrel must be getting old or he really is ill,” he narrowed his eyes with the speculation, “because beyond the first two lashes, I've hardly felt it, a tell ye. Strangest thing, that he didnae seem keen either. That's regular punishment though, fae what a did. And what is it ye have oar him fe such privilege of being let in her'!”

 

Claire pursed her lips and let the question lie, she would surely not get into explaining her relationship with Jack now, or preferably ever, so she busied herself with turning round so she can scoot up to get behind him. She was surprised to find that clean looking thin linen covered the wounds, soaked in a salve that going by the smell was unmistakably her very own plantain/calendula/beeswax mix Jack had always had with him. “Who treated this?” Tripping on her own words, they stumbled out her mouth, quiet and bewildered, even though there was only one place that the ointment could come from. 

 

“A dinnae ken Sassenach, it's no like a was aware of mysel at the time.”

 

“Hm,” Claire gave her assessment of that, “I will see what needs stitching at any case,” she started to peel away the material, glad to find it was soaked sufficiently for it to be greasy enough not to stick too much. Expertly applied, no doubt, a skill that she suspected nobody would have around these parts. Jack however, she could trust at any time to bandage and take care of Denys' various cuts and bruises the boy so often ended up with, probably taking after his biological father. And here too, the gashes have clearly been washed, dressed and protected. She didn't understand it. Did Jack try to lessen the consequences of his actions? Why flog Jamie if he's going to give him the best possible care afterwards? “There are a few cuts here that would heal a lot better if I stitched them,” she gave her final assessment of the wounds.

 

“Claire, right at this moment, a would no mind ye doing anything tae me,” Jamie disregarded her poking, looking to the side the whole time to gaze at as much of her as he was able to see with her ministrations behind him, her bouncy hair and those sensitive ears he so liked to nibble and tease. 

 

“Alright, let me give it a little wash first,” she reached for the small bowl she arrived with and let the cloth taken out from the disinfecting salty water drip onto his shoulders. 

 

Jamie shivered, but didn't give any other indication that he was uncomfortable apart from his body's natural response. Not that he would ever complain much, this time however he was additionally too taken by her presence to care for anything else, “a have imagined you, dreamt you, so many times, when waking aggravated, knowing you would be with Frank and then had tae calm mysel down, it was me who sent ye there after all. The bairn. Did he survive?”

 

“She. Brianna. Named after your father.” She concentrated on her work, intentionally blanking out from her mind that it was Jack who named her, really. 

 

“How is she?” Jamie sounded very eager and animated, not at all bothered it was a girl. 

 

“Stay still, I can't stitch this way.” No matter how much she wanted to give into the joy of the moment completely, Claire remained somewhat reserved, given the huge revelations she still had to get off her chest at some point.

 

“Is she like you? Does she look like me at all? Is she safe, bonnie, witty? She cannae be anything but clever if she takes after ye!”

 

Claire had to bite her lip and redirect her wondering mind again as Jamie's suggestion of Brianna being clever called forth the invocation of Jack showing the little girl the constellations while sitting out on the steps at the back of the estate house in Sussex one evening and her eagerness to learn about telling the month from what you could see up at the sky. But she couldn't tell Jamie about that and neither could she tell about how cleverly and caringly Brianna cared for her little sister. So she just said, “she is clever. Learning about plants. Her hair is brown, but it has a reddish tint. Her complexion, the way she moves, her mouth curves, she reminds me of you every day. But you shall see for yourself soon.”

 

“Ye didnae bring her here did ye!” Jamie barely gave enough time for Claire to get the needle away and not stab him with it again when he turned. 

 

“Where was I supposed to leave her,” Claire protested. 

 

“Where is she now then.” Suspicion formed in his mind. There was no village nearby, that was the point to the location of the fortress, no human help or settlement close. Claire didn't give much away, she barely blinked in the direction of the ceiling, but that was enough for him to know. “You left her with HIM.” Jamie felt a chill that had nothing to do with ambient temperature. “As assurance you would not spring me right now? Bartering wi' our bairn?” His feelings balanced between rage, confusion and anticipation so much that none of them could overpower the other and thus he remained at a loss for a moment. 

 

Claire shook her head, “you need to trust me Jamie. Trust me. I will tell you everything soon, but until then, don't believe anything you hear,” she added, knowing that the only reason Jamie hadn't heard of the Captain's wife arriving with their children was because he was in solitary confinement.

 

“I trust you,” the Scot answered without question, taking her hands in his. Their foreheads neared each other naturally as they tried to trim the distance years apart created between them and then Jamie hugged her close and tight, as if making up for all the lost time. “Sassenach, ye daftie! Why did ye come!” It was a poetic question, not needing any reply. Of course it wouldn't have been Claire if she didn't come, once she found out about him. “a said tae Jack tae tell ye, a willnae leave ma men. It would no be fair, ye see.” But he held her, all the same.

 

“Will cross that bridge when we come to it. Your back first, I'm still to put the ointment on it and a fresh strip of linen.” 

 

Jamie let go slowly, inch by inch, his vision swallowing her instead of his arms as he moved back. “Claire, Claire, you're here,” he cupped the side of her face and pulled her in for a kiss. 

 

It took her a moment to respond, forget her worries to melt into the kiss, desperation turning into the the wish that everything could go back to the way it was, that no time has passed. “Jamie, I love you, I will never leave you, don't ask me that, not again,” she found herself readily in the spirit of how they've left things years before. 

 

“I will have tae,” Jamie sobered, though with a lingering smile still on his lips as he relished the reality of her presence. “But we'll cross that bridge when we come tae it,” he echoed her previous suggestion.

 

Claire, always a woman of action, reached for the ointment to treat her linen with. “We don't have much time, I can't spend that long down here. Tomorrow, Jack will summon you and I will arrange for Brianna to be there with us. You can meet your daughter,” she promised.

 

Jamie got hold of her hand again by his shoulder, further delaying her in applying the bandage. He kissed her knuckles and held her in his grip, “a thank ye for that Sassenach, but after that, ye need tae promise me, ye don't mess with Jack. Ye might think ye have him, but he's too much of a sneaky bastart tae be trusted, whatever the matter! A wild goose never laid tame eggs.” He turned again so he could look her in the eyes, “promise me, Claire!” 

 

“You're not entitled to that demand,” she retorted rather crossly, part of her glad that she had an out like that without having to explain herself, and another part of her angry with herself for letting that questionable relationship develop, “not after tossing me into his tending yourself!” She left the medicated bandage with him. Surely he can put it on himself. 

 

Tbc


	29. Household

Chapter 29: Household

 

Claire was looking out the small window of the captain's quarters into the courtyard even though she knew Jamie will be brought up through the staircase from under the same building she was in. It was an agonising wait that gave her a headache she didn't even notice for being so engulfed in worries over how the next encounter will go. For circumstances out of her control, it has been impossible to break the news to Jamie gradually, explain her past actions and now, in a few minutes, she would be alone with him and she would have to use the chance, or else Jamie would find out her position elsewhere. 

 

She barely noticed the door opening, or the jangle of the chains still round the prisoner's ankles, though not his arms, in regard of the wounds on his back. The Scotsman was brought in by two guards, but was touched by or leaned on neither, walking with his head held high, only small creases around his eyes giving away that he might be in discomfort. He was recovering a lot more easily and swiftly than last time and it made Claire wonder, and hope against hope that the explanation lay with Jack's possible lenience. She wanted to believe so, even though she hasn't spoken a word to him in her anger since his reveal, bar for virtually ordering him to send for Jamie. Under what pretext, she couldn't give a damn. 

 

“Wait outside,” Jack barked at his subordinates, who retreated dutifully immediately. The door banged closed behind them and the three of them remained frozen on the spot, chilled by an eerie deja-vu that hurt and confounded. 

 

Jack drew his hands behind his back and clasped them in an unconscious gesture, perhaps as a statement of power, perhaps the exact opposite, leaving him open for attack, metaphorically, “I will leave you to it, and send out Brianna,” he retreated towards the room in the back.

 

Both Jamie and Claire watched him move, eyes locked on his actions, Jamie out of prudence, and Claire out of avoidance. “Let me look at the wounds,” she glanced towards the table where she had previously laid out whatever she might need for that.

 

“I don't want tae frighten her,” held Jamie, closing the distance between them as much as his chains allowed. 

 

Claire closed her eyes for a moment against the lamentable sight, “I will have to get him to remove those,” she started appalled, “how does everyone bear to wear those?” The brunette held onto his arm, and directed him to a stool. He might want to pretend to be strong, but judging from the blood loss, she knew better.

 

“We do not have them when we are put to work,” Jamie clarified and got hold of her hands as before. He wanted to kiss her and reclaim her, but it wasn't the time. for his girl was about to come out. “How much sway do ye have o'er him?” The thing irked him. Jack had said she had saved his life many times, but why would she do that? Wasn't Frank's fate already decided? Didn't Claire promise she would leave it up to Jamie to take his life afterwards?

 

“I do not know,” Claire admitted. “I don't know how far he would go.” The reality of that scared her. Was her Jack now completely lost to her and if so, why did it hurt so much?

 

The creaking of the door in the back attracted both their attentions, it seemed to be slow and reluctant as it moved, as it was with how the little girl edged out, timid and with her eyes averted. “Brianna,” Claire presented, redundantly. She nodded at the child encouragingly and beaconed her over. 

 

There was one hesitant step and then nothing, not till a little boy edged out from behind her and pushed her forward, “go on now, not as if I'm ever going to meet my real father.”

 

“Denys?” Jamie guessed. He was also encouraged by finding familiarity in the situation.

 

“You were there at my birth,” the child came forward, ready to engage.

 

“Aye, that's right lad.”

 

“And you are Brianna's father. Which is fitting, because mine was at her birth,” Denys extended more information than Claire was willing to give at this point, referring to Jack as his parent this time, which for all intents and purposes he practically was as his other uncle took no part in his upbringing. 

 

“That so?” Jamie couldn't help asking, tone creeping higher at the end. 

 

“You left me with him, heavily pregnant, what did you think was going to happen?” Claire defended the situation. 

 

Jamie grunted, probably acknowledging the truth in the matter, but filed it away to be dealt with later. It was his daughter he came to meet after all. But since the little girl still shied away, half hiding behind her 'brother', the Scot decided it would be best not scaring her and addressed the boy instead, “a held the notion ye'd be the diffident yin, aft' yer parents, an' Brianna tae be the dauntless, aft her mom an' da'.”

 

“Denys is simply very inquisitive, that is the explanation and Brianna just likes to...” 'sit in a corner asking questions privately of her dad'-but that wasn't appropriate to say, so she had to think of another way to finish the sentence, “be studious instead.”

 

Jamie nodded, “nothin' the matter wi' that, bonnie lass,” he smiled at the girl. 

 

Brianna leaned towards her cousin 'brother', and asked quietly, “why does he speak so weirdly?” But not quiet enough for the rest of them not to hear. 

 

Claire stiffened and panicked, answering quickly, “that is how Scottish people speak when they don't use Gaelic, but Jamie can speak in a way the English understand it better as well, when he wants to,” she defended him and alluded to his good sense at the same time, trying to suggest that this would be the time to put that skill into practice as from broad to almost proper English, she had heard him speak all versions in the past. 

 

“Have you not spoken tae her about her father then?” Jamie questioned Claire instead, though cutting back on the broad. 

 

“I have,” the mother omitted the fact that it was recently. But she could have hardly spoken about Jamie in Sussex for fear of the children giving the game away. “You will have to forgive her, it is her first time in Scotland. Come here Brianna,” she tried to salvage the relationship.

 

The child complied, slow, but curious and studying this wild man they've told her was her real father. “We're allowed tae work with wood, so I shall make you a toy,” Jamie tried again, his eyes also on the shy beauty, “what is it you would like?”

 

“I had to leave everything back at Litlington House. My Angel too.”

 

Claire sucked in some air. Thankfully Jamie would have no idea what the Randall estate was called. “I could carve an angel,” he offered, glad he could find some common ground.

 

“Angel was her rocking horse,” Claire clarified. It was Denys who was obsessed with horses, but Brianna sort of copied him, but revealing how much time the children spent together also felt wrong. 

 

“Well, it might be a wee bit more difficult getting large enough wood for that, but I guess it's doable,” Jamie planned his parting gift to his daughter, that is if he was going to manage to convince Claire to leave him behind. 

 

Brianna was in his grasp, right before her as she held her mother's hand and he was contemplating whether it would be alright to ask the child if she wanted to play a game with him when she turned her head towards Claire, “can I go to play chess with papa? He had the board set up,” the girl looked towards the door where Jack disappeared, leaving no doubts about who 'papa' was, unless due to some mysterious reason, there was another man in there, which wasn't at all likely.

 

Claire paled and let go, only nodding to allow the children to go. Lightning had stricken, it was only damage control that could be done now. Jamie pursed his lips and drew back involuntarily, alternating between sending disturbed looks at the door and her. It was only his status as a prisoner that kept him from breaking something. And just to make everything worse, Sissy started crying just at that moment. Of course, in her worry, she had forgotten to feed her. 

 

“What is that?” Jamie paused.

 

“My little sister,” Brianna chimed on her way out. 

 

“Ma heid's mince fe bloodloss an' fever,” he reverted back to his natural way of talking once the child was gone, “so tell me how does that bairn have a sister and who is it she calls father!” He demanded. If she married again thinking he was gone, if there was another man in there, keeping Jack in check, that was one thing, not a cheery development, but still, marginally acceptable. That had to be the only feasible explanation, right?

 

Claire didn't answer, she only took a step back subconsiously. No matter how many times she's tried in her head, there was no good way of telling him the truth in a way he'd understand. The look on her face however was enough to steer Jamie in the right direction. He advanced towards that door, seething, “what has that monster done tae you!” He seethed.

 

The way he was barging, Claire didn't think there was any other way of restraining him than running to step in front of him, “stop. You'll scare the children.”

 

“You can't be protecting that abomination!” Jamie argued.

 

“There's a reasonable explanation for all of this.”

 

“Is there? Well, I'm waiting for it,” he challenged, a hand on a hip. 

 

“Please sit down,” Claire tried to defuse the worst of his reactions.

 

“Now,” Jamie refused.

 

Resigning herself to the fact that Jamie was not going to calm one bit, she turned her speech quick, to be done with it as soon as was possible, “first, he saved us, me and Brianna. I was bleeding out at the birth as before. With him on leave of absence from the army because of his illness, he took us to the family home in Sussex so I could recover. They would've not taken a random woman in, so I posed as his wife. We needed the help and he needed my medical expertise. A simple trade, as it were.”

 

“You could've went to Lallybroch!” 

 

“No, I couldn't, there were so many reasons why I couldn't! I thought you died! The last place I wanted to go to was somewhere where the thought of that would've hurt more! The place wasn't even yours anymore, you passed it on to your nephew, remember. It was a time of famine in Scotland and Brianna needed to be somewhere safer than that, not under constant threat of the English army. Not to mention there was the future I came from to think about. Denys wouldn't have made it anywhere with Jack on his own, not how incapable he was of taking care of himself, walk anywhere. And I needed to put together some funds, fend for ourselves. How do you suppose I should've done that at Lallybroch, eat up someone else's bread?”

 

Jamie grunted. In any other circumstances, he would've admitted that with Claire being the self reliant, considerate and forward thinking woman that she was, it was not likely that she would've went back to his estate. “Just tell me one thing Claire. How was that choice made knowing with certainty that he would force himself on you sooner or later!” 

 

“He didn't,” Claire defended Jack instinctively.

 

“He didn't?” Jamie echoed. With a stony expression, he stared at her for a moment, nothing made sense. “If he didn't then...” That was in fact a thousand times worse. On instinct, he stepped back, flight response winning over fight. It all seemed so incomprehensible that there was nothing else he could do there. He had to go, ground himself somehow as his swirling mind produced no coherent thoughts, only span in disarray. 

 

Claire knew better than to run after him. The guards outside will take him back to his cell, but it was no use going there either. What had to be done, happened and now there was nothing further she could do. Jamie would never forgive her, no matter how much time he was going to be given to process the facts. Despairing and abject, she had to steady herself on the chair, her emotions getting the better of her. She had messed up royally, and Brianna didn't help matters either. The crying coming from the other room had gotten louder, but at this moment in time she didn't care. Devastated, she lowered herself onto the chair and gave into the crushing sadness. 

 

Tbc


	30. Arrangement

Chapter 30: Arrangement

 

It was quite astonishing how it was possible with Claire and Jack living and sleeping within the confines of the Captain's quarters, but she managed to disregard, avoid and not speak a word to him for the entirety of months. Claire reasoned she didn't owe him anything, not after the lashings, no matter the circumstances that those happened under. Of course, apart from spending time with the children, she didn't actually stay in those rooms much. Once she managed to convince Adderton to hand over one of the storage areas for the setting up of her surgery, even the children spent more time with her there than in the Captain's quarters, and then endless days out with their mother collecting medicinal plants. 

 

After overseeing the works of strengthening the fortress day by day, Jack spent his evenings secluded in his study, reading by the candlelight, or in reality, nursing his stomach where nobody saw it needed done. Claire's potions he still had, but he found that more he missed her massages and attentions, overseeing his diet. Rubbing his belly, he closed his eyes, it seemed like he was particularly tired on this day. Certainly, it was dark, but it darkened early so far up north. Perhaps he would have to give in to the tiredness anyway, fighting it never did much good to his health. Jack contemplated retiring to bed, only the adjacent room seemed too far for it. He barely noted the opening door, but once he realised someone was standing at the other side of the desk, he tried to straighten up and look his best, “what is it?” He grumbled at a supposed subordinate, probably asking permission for something. It was also due to his pronounced tiredness that he didn't react till he was hauled out his seat, just to be punched in the nose to the extent he fell back onto the space he occupied a moment before. 

 

“Jamie! Stop! There's no time for this, we need to go!” Claire tried to deter her lawfully wedded husband from keeping his attention on the man she had lived with over the last six years. 

 

“That was for taking my family,” Jamie declared, “but a wouldnae assault drugged men, unable to fight back!” 

 

“Druggged..” Jack mumbled. So that was why he felt so dizzy and fatigued.

 

“I have drugged the entire garrison,” Claire explained, coming closer, “hopefully everyone had drunk enough ale to stick.”

 

“I didn't,” the Englishman established.

 

“You wouldn't, as you know that alcohol is bad for your stomach, that's why we're here,” Claire stepped between the two men, trying to assure no more violence took place. She held out a vial for him, “you can either drink this, or Jamie could hit you in the head, whichever you prefer,” she winced with the offer. Every fibre of her being felt inclined to tend to his bleeding nose, see if it was broken, even as she told herself that it was a big, huge mistake caring for him, he did after all fall back into old habits pretty quickly. Only she couldn't feel like she could erase the last few years just like that. The brunette knelt by his chair, holding up the vial for him, “ a sip should be enough.” Judging from his sluggish responses and swimming head, it seemed like he already had a good dose. “Please Jack, you need to look like you were incapacitated, just like everyone else.” 

 

Jack reached for the little bottle, holding his hand over hers for a moment longer than it was necessary to take the sleeping potion from her, or was that because he was so slow right now? He wouldn't object, this was the plan from day one when they had found out about Jamie. And she would leave him and take his children too, he knew this, it was only a matter of time. He couldn't keep her back, it was a certainty, there was no point to struggling against it. So he poured the contents of the vial down his throat. His life was over, one way or another, he didn't deserve her, he didn't deserve a good life, that was the price of his darkness, no matter how much in the past that was. It was simply the way it was, not hard to comprehend. Forcing her otherwise would yield no results. 

 

“That's enough!” Claire snatched the bottle away from him, “I said just a sip!” She pulled back, horrified, but immediately calmed herself down. He was sluggish, that's what it was, he probably didn't even hear her. 

 

“Have tae haste ye Sassenach,” Jamie was watching the door. 

 

“So this is it, his big escape,” Jack sneered with his remaining strength. 

 

“We need tae get the hell out of dodge,” the Scotsman continued to urge her.

 

“Jack,” Claire ignored the red haired man and remained kneeling next to the Captain of the fort, a hand on his leg, “I don't think you understand. Jamie wasn't going to leave on his own, so it is all the prisoners that are coming. I took the money we gathered and hired a ship that awaits all,” she explained mildly, knowing that despite set-up appearances, she was maybe still condemning him to court marshal or worse. During her first few years in the century, the time traveller wouldn't have have hesitated and now that it looked like he was back to his old ways, she reasoned she shouldn't either and yet, she couldn't believe that the man she's shared her recent everydays with, thoughts, feelings and bed, could he be gone? She knew Jack more than anyone else, perhaps more than Alex ever did and was beneficiary of his inner tenderness and generosity the same way as his brother had been. There was no doubt of the good in him, something she could not entirely disregard. 

 

He raised an eyebrow in reaction to the declaration as his head lolled to the side, more he was not capable of under the influence of the sedatives. It meant the end of him, but then again, it didn't matter much, he was lost without her already. A macabre end for a terrible monster, nothing he didn't deserve and then perhaps, the world dealt justice fairly after all. And if that was the fate that awaited him, the children were truly better off with her. His eyes were closing, but he forced one open to peer at the beauty who ended him, not with a curse this time, yet all the same. There was a pistol in the desk, that should be enough to safeguard some of his dignity before he was taken to answer for his deeds. He grunted, making an effort to form the words, “thank you.” 

 

Claire was in the middle of getting to her feet, but those words stopped her, made her fall back at his feet. 'Thank you'. She just told him he lost everything and he thanked her? Tears prickling the corners of her eyes, she bit her lip and turned to Jamie, “give me a few minutes. I will follow.” At Jamie's hesitant grunt she added, “I'll catch up, some of the men aren't capable of walking fast anyway.” 

 

Disapproving, but edgy and impatient, the Scot nodded, wanting to get the prisoners who respected him as a clan chief to safety. Claire followed him with her eyes and only turned back when she knew him out of sight. “Jack,” she reached for his hand, “Jack, come with us. The ship's captain has been paid and we're set for the Americas. You can come. Taking Sissy away from you, I never wanted that, it isn't fair.”

 

“No,” the syllable sounded unfaltering and loud as if he would've never been drugged, though he did not pull off the rest of the sentence without slurring. His mouth formed a lopsided grin, “my my, Madame Fraser,” he sardonically reverted to his old address of her, pointing out that that's who she was now, lawfully, as well as with the distance between them, “you have managed some truly monstrous deeds here, do not regress, I am impressed.” 

 

Claire shook her head, tears still stinging and at the verge of falling, “no Jack, please not the dense dark wall you build to protect yourself from the world, you are better than this.”

 

The thin line of his lips compressed further. “Aren't you glad I have forced you to learn how to survive in an eye for an eye world? Farewell Madame Fraser.”

 

She sucked the air in through her nose, standing exasperated, not taking any of his hard facade for the truth. “It's not too late, I'll help you move.” 

 

Jack raised lazy eyes at her, “we both know there's no life for me there with you.”

 

Claire sighed, turning, then back again with another sigh. “You've flogged Jamie because you had to, don't deny it.” She remained frozen for a moment before she got herself together enough to supply the next line, “I could have loved you. If you just let someone, they could love you,” she offered, then reached back to plant a kiss on his forehead, “good bye Jack.” With that, she fled.

 

Tbc


	31. Adjustment

Chapter 31: Adjustment

 

Sissy hid herself in Claire's bosom, digging in as much as possible, yet still giving her lungs enough exercise to deafen everyone walking within at least fifty yards' distance. Claire had tried everything, shushing her, comforting her, ordering and pleading and even breastfeeding the child while walking, but nothing worked and if Claire was honest with herself, she would've had to admit to herself that she shouldn't have been surprised. The little girl was not used to open air marching, much less the biting Scottish wind and the unrelenting and merciless night time drizzle that was just as good as a shower at soaking everyone to the bone. 

 

The fleeing prisoners were wary. While not thinking to question Jamie's decision, or reject his offer of passage to the Americas, bar for a couple of older men who were contemplating the possibility of being buried in Scottish soil before long and another couple soon to be released, Sissy's laments drew a few weary looks. If it wasn't for them travelling on noman's land at the back of beyond, the success of the escape would have turned well questionable with that racket. 

 

Running at them, young Angus MacKenzie seemed rather startled when he appeared leaping back from where he was sent forward as a lookout, “Mac Dubh, Mac Dubh!” Small as he was and barely remembering a life before Ardsmuir, he panted as he tried to get Jamie's attention over the noise. He pointed, gasping like a fish, “Mac Dubh, redcoats, hind the next mound!” 

 

“Redcoats?” Murdo stared at everyone confused, “did we no put them all tae slumber!”

 

Angus shook his head vehemently, though it had nothing to do with answering that question, “they are coming fae Morefield, too many tae see how many!”

 

“Scatter, all of ye, scatter,” Jamie gave his orders, peering at the still wailing child. He did care not what the bairn's name was, Randall's spawn's. He just referred to her in his mind as 'lassie', though he could've probably remembered the name if he would've wanted to. He wasn't sure why Claire had to bring her, or herself for that matter. It wasn't like he felt inclined to forgive her, he just had to go along with her offer of freeing everyone for the sake of the men. “We will simply pose as a family travelling back home,” he pulled close and put his arms round the brunette.

 

Claire turned towards him instead, “no. You hide too. It will be easier for me to pass as a landowner's wife if you aren't here. I would say we have our house on the Isle of Martin and our cart broke down back at Strathkanaird. That way, even if they offer to assist us to the rowboat, we can make them believe it's going to the island. Just leave Angus, he can pose as our servant,” she suggested, herself eyeing the older children, Brianna and Denys, with worry. They have been explained the importance of the undertaking in helping the prisoners and hopefully they were too sleepy to interfere, but she was quite sure that neither of them was keen on leaving their papa behind, even if they didn't know it was to be for the rest of their lives. “Meet you at the Loch,” she urged Jamie, relieved to see he was listening to her. Just in time too, as the clank and blatter of soldiers approaching got close and some of the redcoats appeared at the brink of the hill. 

 

“Who goes there!” Called out the sentry, walking at least fifteen feet ahead of the others. 

 

“The miller's wife from Eilean Mhàrtainn,” Claire called the island on its Gaelic name, hoping to pass for a local. She could never properly sound Scottish enough of course, but maybe she could make them think she'd lived here for a while. 

 

“Miller's wife?” A confident sounding redcoat edged out from behind the rest to approach her, “forgive me for thinking, but I was told the island is uninhabited. Would make sense, it is all cliffs that we have seen of it before the sun went down.”

 

“There's a pier at the northwest side,” Claire provided. It was true too, she had been there to tend to one of the fishermen who fell ill. “A few houses, cattle and sheep on our lands,” she held. 

 

“I wouldn't mind seeing that then,” held the man, seemingly in an officer's uniform now that he was close enough to be able to discern, “it does amaze me these people,” he gestured vaguely around, “the conditions they choose to live in. I mean why, when you could live civilized further South!” He complained, “and a well educated Englishwoman yourself,” he regarded the fine standard of the family's clothing, “just why!” 

 

“It has to be what the husband thinks best,” Claire said half indignantly. She would've never agreed to such a deal herself, but she had to play the part. 

 

The choice of words seemed to have at least temporarily appeased her interrogator as the tall man grunted in place of an agreement and poked his hat upwards a little with his index finger while he nodded, as a way of a formal greeting, “excuse the rudeness Madam, you never know who you meet in these parts and in what circumstances so one needs to make sure it is advisable to be at ease first, before introductions. I am Major Titus Ephraim Griffith of the 9th Regiment, in charge of the rebel hunting here on the West Coast and as such, it is my duty to know who goes where, my apologies.”

 

“Claire Beauchamp,” the seemingly mother of three nodded at him, reverting back to the only name she could think of as Fraser or Randall she could not be for the moment. “We should be on our way then,” she put a hand on Brianna's shoulder to steer her round the soldiers, “I'd better get these children under cover,” she reasoned, hoping for a way out. Cause of Major Griffith she has heard, and nothing good.

 

“Curious to bring them out at this hour, is it not,” he blocked their path.

 

“Oh, I wouldn't have, but our waggon broke down and now we're rather late on foot. My husband will probably come looking for us if we don't hurry.”

 

“You should stay overnight at Ardsmuir,” the Major suggested, “it shouldn't be far I believe. We have half a dozen prisoners to deliver there, you should come along. There's a cart with provisions the children could sit on.”

 

“We have already passed Ardsmuir and were fortunate enough to share the captain's dinner. He had presented us with a similar offer gallantly, but I had to decline for the sake of my other half you see,” Claire tried, notwithstanding the ominous dark cloud that was settling on her inner self. From experience, convincing these English officers of things they did not want to accept was impossible. 

 

“For your safety, I must insist,” he nodded towards a linen covered vehicle. 

 

“Major!” The call came from a distance and belonged to a man approaching on horseback from behind them. “Your Second Leftenant reached me with the news of your arrival,” he dismounted and saluted his superior, “Jonathan Randall, Captain of Ardsmuir Prison, at your service.” Claire found herself biting her lip in perturbation, with her head spinning as if she had been the one who administered powerful sedatives. How on earth was Jack standing, even if holding on to the horse and what was he trying to achieve by coming here? Was everything lost when the Major's men got to the fort? 

 

“Ah, Randall, I had been looking forward to the aquintance,” Griffith sounded pleased, proving that Black Jack's past reputation still held, “are you alright?” Observance being an asset to a man of his standing, he didn't fail to notice Jack's unsteady legs.

 

“You have probably heard of my being away from service for quite some time. Perhaps my assumption that I can return was rushed,” Jack held as an explanation for his indisposition. 

 

“Even so,” the superior officer argued, “I wouldn't have left a lady like Mrs. Beauchamp out in the face of the dangers of the night.”

 

Jack glanced in her direction. He only held her eyes for the fraction of a second and she wasn't sure what his momentary, soft, sad and disappointed gaze meant for the situation exactly, not till he spoke, “from my relatively short experience of talking to people in the area and meeting her a couple of times, I can already say that Mrs. Beauchamp can well take care of herself,” he emphasized with surety in his voice and something else that Claire couldn't quite place. It was anger she had expected at the very least, this was more like the make-believe indifference of a stone wall one put up in defence, filtering through beyond that pretence he intended to decieve Griffith with. It froze her in place, distanced her from her surroundings into a foggy haze where she stood thunderstuck with the realisation that he was truly covering for her, for them, and with a price that was probably his head. 

 

“Very well then,” Griffith shrugged, clearly having needed his suspicions about her late hour trek to be put to rest, “you may be on your way Mrs Beauchamp. If there's a place to dock on the island, we shall visit,” he forewarned. He would let her away now, but that didn't mean that later he wouldn't assure himself that all was as it should be.

 

“Thank you once again for dinner, Captain Randall,” she got herself together just in time, a shaking starting in her insides and threatening to take over her limbs. It was some sort of a miracle in itself that the little ones didn't give anything away and she had to take them out of sight as quickly as was possible. Jack didn't acknowldge her call, perhaps for the very same reason, not daring to engage with the children. And as an afterthought it also occurred to her that it should have been impossible for Jack to speak without slurring at the very least. 

 

“We would welcome you showing the way to the fortress,” the Major gestured for his own horse to be brought forward while Jack mounted his. He also did not pay any more attention to the travelling woman and his men followed behind them in a haste for the lack of many more horses. 

 

Claire's legs felt like lead as she got out the way of the soldiers marching past. She knew what she had to do, take the children far, but it felt a lot less right than it had been an hour ago. The mother was startled when Jamie appeared in front of her and stepped to her side to aid her in her trek and support her, physically and mentally. “What was that with Randall?” He leaned close conspirationally, “I could not hear the words being said.”

 

“What do you think it was!” Claire stopped walking and faced him, only her load in the shape of a baby in her arms stopping her from lashing out and slapping at his chest in her frustration and disappointment in herself. “Jamie,” she wailed desperately, “he came out here because he found out Griffith was on his way, close by and he is going to be court marshalled and hanged for it. There is no covering up that he was aiding us now.” 

 

Jamie swallowed and nodded, taking hold of her upper arms as he slowly, gradually took in the information, clear that a whole world view inside him was having to change to allow it. “No, he willnae be,” the Scot said firmly. “Not if I can help it. Ye know where the rowboats are waiting, take everyone tae the ship. I will get him out Claire, I promise,” he nodded once again, encouraginly this time. 

 

Claire grabbed for him too as he turned to make true on his promise. She was already losing Jack, it was hard to accept she could be losing them both. “I will not kiss you goodbye,” she pleaded with fate itself, only holding his hand in hers for a moment before they inevitably had to spring into action. 

 

Tbc


	32. Reserve

Chapter 32: Reserve

 

Children and prisoners safely on board, the captain of their escape ship emphasized that they would have to leave with the high tide reaching its peak in the early hours of the morning the latest, if not earlier if troops started appearing. In other words, there wasn't much time left. Feeling like she was tearing herself in half risking that she would be separated from her children, Claire took one rowboat back to shore with the help of Angus, who claimed he owes Jamie at least that much and a lot more. Waiting on the dinghy didn't seem like good enough for either of them, so they tied up the vessel and started climbing the cliff in the still dangerous darkness, urged on by faraway echoes of gunshots. 

 

“Stop,” Angus looked down to warn her quietly as she tried to find her footing behind him. Claire was not inclined to slow down with how much was at stake, she would rather run into mortal danger herself than leave those two men of her heart in peril. With dislodged stones and raining dirt swirling past her however, her instincts told her to look up and thence it became clear that someone or someones were descending the treacherous path. 

 

“It is Mac Dubh!” The young Scot assured her jubilantly, referring to Jamie like they all did in there, by his nickname, “I can see his frizzly hair in the wind!” 

 

“Angus?” Jamie's voice sounding above gave her further certainty that it was indeed him. “I need yer help Angus! I've got rope tied round Randall, can ye catch 'im d'ye think if a let 'im down tae ye?”

 

“Rope, why?” Claire clambered past the younger man, not exactly minding much if he had purchase as she did so.

 

Jamie shook his head and muttered a silent curse. It was not as if he'd expected Claire anywhere else than coming to their aid, but he'd still rather have her doing what he'd told her for once. “He's unconscious, with the blood loss I'd say.”

 

“I'm ready, Mac Dubh!” Angus called up as soon as he found some sticking out rock to wedge his feet into for further purchase and a by winds dwarved tree trunk to hold onto. 

 

“What happened Jamie?” Claire paused in climbing to look up, not a lot less worried than before. 

 

“I carried 'im in me arms as far as I could, but it is impracticable down this slope,” the Scot explained.

 

It wasn't the part of the account Claire really wanted, but she didn't have time for more questions for the moment as a loglike shape came into view, “slide him towards the left, towards me a little, too many rocks at the other side!” She directed for the benefit of the incoming weight. It was thus that Jack's unresponsive body reached her first. “Angus!” The brunette called out in panic. While she could take a hold of Jack's legs, she didn't have enough purchase to take his whole weight. 

 

The young man swiftly manoeuvred himself into a new position that allowed him to grab onto the Englishman's torso and this way they huddled together holding the body while Jamie himself climbed down to join them. Given how precarious their balance was, it was advisable not to move no matter how much Claire would've liked to check on Jack, see where the injury was and how bad. He was soaked right through and cold, with no way of telling in the faint light of the moon where the dampness was darker and she had even less of a chance after as gunshots rang out from above. 

 

While the bullets missed them by several feet, it was advisable to hurry down as quickly as possible, manoeuvring the unconscious man between them. They would be safe once further out the bay on the dinghy as there was no other vessel around that their pursuitors could use to chase them. They all put their efforts into rowing at first. It was only when they were probably out of range that Claire slid down to the flat bottom next to Jack. She still could not see much, but there was a pulse and that was one thing at least she could thank heavens for. The nurse patted Jack down, still unsure of his injuries.

 

“Bullet in the right shoulder,” Jamie came to her aid, “but he could still use it, fire with that hand an' ride, long afterward. I only had tae carry 'im the last hundred feet afore the cliffs.”

 

While the news were somewhat reassuring, it didn't make Claire much less concerned. Without her medical kit, there was not much she could do but press on the site, hope for the best and worry about the effect of the sedatives she earlier gave to him in combination with the blood loss and Jack's generally precarious health at the best of times. And now that he had proved his loyalties without a doubt, it truly felt so heartless what she had done to him, leaving him without his children and in danger of being held responsible for the prisoners' disappearance. 

 

“That bastart is unkillable, he will make it.” It was Jamie's quiet encouragement, benevolent and honest as he watched her fussing over the wounded man desperately, her attention undivided. 

 

Claire's head snapped up at that however, surprised and questioning, searching his features as much as it was possible under the circumstances. “Thank you for going back for him,” she acknowledged the previously unthinkable development. Jamie was nothing but honourable and kind, he would've went back for just about anyone, bar for the only person in the world he actually did go back for. Their horrendous past could not be washed clean, it never could be, she had no illusions about that. 

 

Jamie game a minute nod, “ye vouched for him when I questioned ye, that has got tae count fae somethin'. I had a great deal of time tae ponder on it.”

 

“Thank you,” Claire felt the need to repeat as it was no small deed, going against everything he had felt entitled to do in detriment of his old arch-enemy. She leaned closer to her patient, listening to his breathing, then reorganised his limbs in a way they were elevated so that the remaining blood would remain mainly supplying the organs needed for survival. 

 

It was true she was always very enwrapped in her work, Jamie knew that, but a blind man could see this was more than that. “Ye love him, don't ye.” It wasn't even a question, only what felt like a cold stake through his heart, his own silver bullet that numbed him from inside out. 

 

“I don't love him! How could I love him! Some things cannot be forgiven,” Claire claimed a little too hastily. 

 

“Is it yersel yer set tae convince?!” Jamie spat, anger seeping through now. 

 

“I don't love him, not like I love you, I couldn't. If he was the most venerable man in the world, I still couldn't. I never loved anyone like you, you know that. But my Jack,” she flinched with her unfortunate choice of worlds, “I'd like to introduce you to him, for you to know him. He is not the person you knew.”

 

“Jonathan Wolverton Randall, the same yin is it no? I have sworn tae kill that person an' ye have promised me his life and tae help me bleed him dry. Ye still owe me his life,” he established the state of the affairs coldly, provokingly. 

 

Once again, Claire had no time to ask him what on earth that had meant because they reached the tall ship and the captain seemed keen on hauling them up and sailing away, with good reason and she had to concentrate helping to manoeuvre Jack up without hurting him any further. 

 

Tbc


	33. Predicament

Chapter 33: Impasse 

 

Jamie was leaning on the doorframe of the tiny cabin, the only other separate compartment below deck apart from the captain's cabin, made available for the only woman and the two young girls travelling on the three masted barque used to cross the Atlantic. Brianna was up on deck minding her sister while the blankets were being aired in the wind, one of Claire's daily requirements for all the passengers under her care, insisting on hygiene for the sake of keeping out disease. Herself however only took short breaks from her vigil over her patient, constantly worrying about keeping him hydrated, his wound from bleeding or his temperature down. Jamie doubted she knew he was there, it was as if her entire being was focussed on caring for that man. His forehead permanently creased as he tried to wrap his head around it, the Scot did not understand. He had gathered as much that his planned revenge on Randall had been rendered obsolete by the apparent fact that the person in question did not exist as such, allegedly, however, letting him away with his past misconduct did not sit well with the Scot either. There were some things that could not be forgotten or forgiven, no matter the amount of redemption that came after, but him taking such a direction would not go down well with Claire. Not to mention he himself had risked his own life to help Jack to freedom, something that felt right in the heat and urgency of the moment. Taking that life now seemed contrary. But once the Englishman was better, he would make him pay, one way or another, only he didn't know how just yet. Punish him he will.

 

“Do you have enough cocculus and ginger?” Claire surprised him by proving she did know he was there and was interested in checking he had his mix of travel sickness remedies, but she didn't turn. The relationship between them was still strained to say the least, though it was helping that Brianna's natural tendency for curiosity finally got the better of her and she had started asking Jamie questions about Scotland and her heritage, learning the odd bit of Gaelic here and there on the otherwise long and boring passage to the Americas. 

 

“Aye,” Jamie responded firmly, moved away from the door and took the ladders up to deck, feeling more comfortable watching them when they weren't aware. Randall had started moaning at any case and that he did not want to hear. God forbid he might feel sorry for the man.

 

“Jack, I'm here,” Claire placed a palm on his cheek and turned his head in her direction gently, “I'm here, you're safe, you should recover,” she empathised, “open your eyes Jack, do you want some water?” Not getting any response bar for him leaning into the touch, she placed her hand under his head to lift his lips to the water mug she had. 

 

Jack drank obediently and clumsily but thirstily. She expected him to lose his thin grip on consciousness again with the relieved sigh he let out when she let him sink back down into the pillow, but his eyes fluttered instead and soon she found herself smiling into the dark orbs. “How are you feeling?”

 

The patient had to think about it. There had been like a haze over him for god knows how long, some fog he had been peeking out from on occasion and any time he did so, there had been the comfort of her arms, the reassuring lull of her voice. It felt like home, as if they would've never left Sussex. But that mush was probably not what Claire was looking for, and it was also rather long winded to say so for the moment so he settled for, “heavy.” 

 

“You will naturally be weak for a while because of the blood loss,” Claire continued to smile at him benevolently and he considered the possibility of being in heaven. Maybe Griffith reached them and they all died. Cause her current facial expression did not match her betrayal at Ardsmuir. “Where..” 

 

“On the Arabela, about half way across the ocean.”

 

Jack nodded at that. From the lulling and monotone movements of the chamber it made sense and it also told him that about a week would've passed. “The children...” was his next thought and looked around wildly in the small room. 

 

“Everyone is safe Jack,” Claire put a hand on his good shoulder to pacify him, “you are safe here with me. You didn't have much of an infection, the rain and the salt in the water must've taken care of that, but you've lost a lot of blood there was no way of replacing, so I wasn't sure you would make it. I should've remembered how tough you are.” 

 

The Englishman took another shot at surveying his surroundings, calmer this time. Moving his head made him dizzy and nauseous though, to the extent of having to give in to a feeble moan. “Easy Jack,” Claire's face appeared closer to him immediately and a cool and wet rag was placed on his forehead, her hand holding it there, “thank you for covering for us.”

 

He shook his head, no matter how much that accentuated his headache, “you think I'd leave my children's fate up to a temperamental god?” He grunted displeased.

 

Claire drew back ashamed. How could she justify punishing this man for deeds committed nigh a decade ago when he was willing to offer the ultimate sacrifice for them? “How did you manage to shake off the effects of the tranquilliser by the way if we're at it?” She wanted to change the subject. 

 

“Learnt from the best,” Jack summarised, “you left some of your vials.”

 

There was an appreciative twinkle in her eyes, but there were more urgent matters, “I'll help you sit up a little so you can eat something. I don't know if you remember, I've managed to get a few mouthfuls of soup past your lips every now and then, but you need to top it up with something more substantial.” 

 

Jack shook his head again, “what for.”

 

“To get better of course!” 

 

“Now she cares,” he pursed his lips and rolled his yes, “and him coming after me. If the intended torture is seeing you together, then impressive, success.” 

 

“Of course there is a point! Jamie not leaving you there should give you a big clue that he is maybe beginning to understand who you really are now.”

 

“Do you think I care about that, how he regards me.”

 

“I don't know! But if you don't care about how people regard you than you must get better for the children!” 

 

“The children you will take away from me sooner or later when you decide it's time to be together with your lawfully wedded husband you mean.” 

 

Claire sighed, “right now, I am not sure that will ever happen. He has not digested the idea of me and you together for whatever reason it was.”

 

Jack gave her a harsh look, “he will forgive you, you know that, he knows that, I know that. You are his most precious thing in the world. The three of us in close proximity, it will never work, that is another thing we know for sure.” 

 

“I will not leave you,” promised Claire, “I have abandoned you once already and yet you come through with shining colours without the support of being reminded of right and wrong. I am with you Jack, now please eat cocky-leaky soup. The last chicken has just been plucked for you.” 

 

Jack stared at her suspiciously for some time. It's not that he believed it will go down the way she's promised and he wasn't a sort of pitiable loser to let it happen either, but he was too tired to argue or even contemplate the matter much more. “I don't think I can eat Claire, my stomach hurts.”

 

She winced in sympathy at his revelation, “it wouldn't be a surprise with all these various ordeals for your illness to worsen. Take a few mouthfuls and we'll see,” she supported his head again so she could place some pillows under, “I will massage it for you after, that always helps, right?”

 

Her patient continued to fix her with his gaze, scrutinising her with the hope of looking under her facade, ignoring the headache focussing his attention also made worse. She was as nice to him as if nothing would've happened, as if they've never left his family home. The hold of the moment was hypnotising and he would be foolish if he wasn't going along with it and enjoyed it while it lasted. “Maybe the massage first, it already hurts bad.”

 

Claire set the mug down she only just picked up and rolled his shirt up at the stomach instead, an act she had done hundreds of times before, literally, along with gently sliding her hand above his belly button and round, half to assess his current state and half to get a start on the massage. His moan was that of relief when he closed his eyes. Her fingers always meant salvation, redemption, if only temporarily.

 

Tbc


	34. Mathematics

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Those of you who read Diana Gabaldon's Voyager, will know exactly where in the story I'm jumping into. There will be short references to aid the understanding of the setting for those of you who haven't read that book.

Chapter 34: Even

 

While the wound wasn't infected or dangerous by location, Jack's recovery was very slow like Claire suspected it would be due to his otherwise already precarious health and now she couldn't help but worry about the various tropical diseases that all emigrants, healthy or otherwise, were subjected to after their arrival at the ship's original destination, the Caribbean, business none of them could deter the captain from. They were headed to Jamaica and Jamaica they would dock in, with the encumbrance of having to take an extra journey to the mainland at a later time. 

 

Careful with their remaining means that would eventually have to get them to Riven Run in North Carolina, to Jamie's aunt's, Jocarta Cameron's plantation, the six of them, Claire, Jamie, Jack and the children rented a small dwelling on the island, comprising of no more than a single room and a kitchen. It was there that Geillis Duncan had found them, mere two weeks after landing on the continent. Amply amused by their surprise at her being alive and ignorant of their needs for information, the Scotswoman's mere explanation for her appearance comprised of having been keeping tabs on them for the purpose of hopefully meeting up with Claire. Geillis needed to know if the journey back to the future was possible and under what circumstances, astonished that Claire did not use the additional aid of gemstones and blood sacrifice. The Black Widow took curious interest in Jack for a time, contrary to her otherwise focussed intent, not that her fellow time traveller would trust any advice Geillis would have given for the restoring of his health.

 

Jack's condition worsened however a few days later. It was a trivial stomach upset they all had, Claire explained it away with them encountering a different strain of bacteria or virus than those that were prevalent in Europe, no more than some cramps and loss of appetite for a number of days. Weak as Jack was though and with a stomach that hardly withstood any deviation from what was ideal, the ex officer developed high fever and pain wrecking his body into spasms, losing precious fluids and weight he had none spare to speak of. 

 

Her usual methods of alleviating his condition failed her. Holding onto Jamie's arm by the door as she craved support he wasn't ready to give, Claire let him know with faltering words and breath that there was nothing else she could do to save Jack's life. The abdomen was filled with pus everywhere to an extent she could not attempt to tap it and would not put Jack through it either, not without something called antibiotics. “I know it isn't exactly how you have set out to do, but now is the time Jamie. Take his life like you promised. I will take the children out to the shore to collect shells. You should do it while we're gone,” she looked up at him with beseeching eyes. 

 

Jamie glanced in the ailing man's direction. Despite Claire's best efforts to calm and numb him, Jack's hand was twitching, fingers extending periodically towards a belly he could not touch for it would've exacerbated the pain. Every breath has left his lips as a shaky moan, quieter as the days went on, but no less revelatory of his suffering. Jamie let out a quiet grunt as well, turning towards him, powerless in changing what was to be. A mercy killing then. It wasn't anywhere near what he had planned, quite the opposite. His every speck of his being wished Jack to live so he could repay the debt, and be killed after. Not this. Jack deserved to suffer, to die a slow and horrible death and yet Jamie had to acknowledge that he did not take much pleasure out of watching it happen. He wasn't that person. Claire's expression infuriated him, it was telling of an affection he would neither ever understand or condone. But together with how Brianna cried herself to sleep every night because her 'papa' could no longer as much as speak to her, it did not leave Jamie much choice. He nodded simply, “I will do it. I will end his suffering.” 

 

Claire embraced him as a thank you, but he pushed her back. He would take no gratitude for something he didn't really feel like doing. She seemed to have acknowledged and come to terms with the signs of the rift between them that was unlikely to ever close completely. Jack caused that but she had no regrets. His tale of redemption surpassed everything she could've ever imagined and she felt privileged to have experienced and encouraged it. His soul could no longer be cursed to eternal damnation, she was sure of it and that was one thing she had achieved. She stepped to the sickbed and took one of Jack's hands into hers once more, kissed his fingers, then leant down to plant a kiss on his temples too softly, a tingle tear dripping onto his hand. She would not be thwarted to say any different last words than what she truly felt, Jamie's presence or otherwise. “Forgive me. I love you Jack.” She steeled herself and marched to gather the children from the garden, not looking back again. 

 

Jamie paced up and down in the small room, a mere few steps' distance either way. First off, he had to wait till he could be sure the family was far enough out on the road and his ambivalence over the matter bothered him still. He would do as he'd promised Claire, sure, and maybe after Jack was gone, this way or another, he could finally move on with his life. The thought didn't make him feel any less troubled, convoluted and conflicted nonetheless. It was clear that the cavalcade of sweeping emotions will dominate his state of mind till the deed was done and perhaps longer. He paced till the presence of his own emotions angered him. The state of the affairs could not be changed and therefore he should just get on with it. A dirk would be very practical he would imagine. There was no way Jack's thin and compressed chest would pose much resistance, so he retrieved Jack's own officers' weapon, perfect for the cause. 

 

He knelt by the bed that was typically low lying in these parts, “Randall!” He called, shaking the man's shoulder. It did not seem right stealing that little trickle of life the sick man still held, without letting him know he was doing it. 

 

Jack's breathing quickened , pained gasps telling of how the jerky movement Jamie urged him with had made the pain worse. “Jack?” The Scot prompted, not quite aware of the hint of apology in his own voice. 

 

Cloudy, anguished eyes regarded him contemplatively, sluggish in their attempt to take him and his stance in. Jack seemed glad of his proximity, a hand looking to touch the younger man, vaguely aiming for his arm. The contact was light and feeble, but Jack seemed to relax in the assurance that he had Jamie's attention. “I regret nothing.” It was the exact same words Claire had said, referring to something else entirely and Jamie wasn't even sure if he was surprised at all or not. His gut has always been telling him this was the same person who had tortured and raped him, and that one wasn't the type to ask for forgiveness. “For my actions gave me you, and ultimately, Claire, and for that, I thank whatever power is responsible.”

 

Jamie raised the dirk. This despicable excuse for a human being didn't deserve to be delivered from his sufferings, but Jack's inciteful words angered him too much at the same time to be able to restrain himself. Jamie waited till Jack's gaze slowly changed focus and took in the shiny object above him. He truly wanted the army deserter to feel the immediacy of his last moments and know his executioner had taken some satisfaction in them. Jack took a deep breath, his eyes keen on the glinting blade, wanting it to come down, ready. This was messed up, Jamie concluded and hesitated. Who was doing who a favour here?

 

“Stop!” It was Geillis Duncan who had pushed the curtains leading to the room aside and now approached as quickly as her well filled in, older form allowed. 

 

“What is it?” Jamie did pull the weapon down, defensive about the woman's sudden appearance. Jack swallowed. Whether it was regret that made him, relief or pain, it was hard to tell. 

 

“There be a bigger picture tae consider here,” the pagan occultist swooped in and considered herself entitled to the chair Claire had used to sit beside her patient. “If I am tae go back tae the twentieth century, regroup an' make another attempt at getting the throne back into the right hands at a different historical time, then I will necessitate a lot of help.”

 

“What do ye want of me?” 

 

“Nothing, fox. I will need tae be sure tae end up in the right time an' leaving nothing to chance. I will use a human sacrifice,” the many times self-made widow raised her eyebrows to look pointedly at the bed's occupant. 

 

Jamie lowered the dirk even further with considerable annoyance. Does he not even get to finish that scoundrel if it is a mercy killing only? “Are ye certain it will serve ye, taking a man on death's door to start with? If he is even alive when ye reach those stones ye talk about here on Jamaica.” 

 

“Don't ye concern yerself about dark practices,” Geillis stepped closer, taking up a cautionary position in defence of her intended target, “this one's as monstrous as they come, aye? It should go well with the forces I'm calling forth. It is hard to find such match ye see. As for getting there, I can hold up his deterioration with this till then,” she pulled out a vial with thick, creamy substance in it that Jamie felt no inclination to find out what it contained. She seemed well prepared at any case. “For Scotland,” she added, seeing his hesitation, “that is the one cause ye cannae doubt with me.” 

 

The red haired man grunted in consideration. Nothing Geillis did could be trusted and that included her failed attempts at ensuring Scottish independence for her methods could not be condoned. But letting Jack die in service of a Scottish cause and not the way the Englishman wanted, that held considerable irony and satisfaction. “All yours,” he stood and distanced himself. The startled and betrayed look Jack gave him held all the satisfaction he needed. 

 

Tbc


	35. Hereafter

Chapter 35: Hereafter

 

30st of June 1952, Inverness

 

Jack listened to the noises of the waking town outside his window and those of the hospital, bustling around to get ready for the rounds the doctors made every morning. There weren't many of those noises that were familiar to him at first, but now that he had spent over a week fairly alert after the two major abdominal surgeries he was told they had to perform on him to save his life and most of his bowels, his interest in the outside world slowly returned in the form of looking out the window of his first floor room in the hospital, or asking questions directed at the various nurses and specialists who tended to him every day, changed his dressings, administered his medicine and helped him with everyday hygiene as they called it, to some crazy extreme he couldn't have imagined, no matter how much Claire had described the future to him on cold evenings in their Sussex bedroom, cosied up to each other for warmth. Despite himself, his knowledge deepened through the use of a contraption called radio that spurted facts of life of the twentieth century on the hour, every hour, in between bursts of music that was even harder to get used to, though he doubted he would ever be interested in such strange cacophony of sounds, not without Claire being there, full of life as she was, making everything and everyone better she had touched. 

 

It was even less of a life worth continuing in a historical time that wasn't his, than it has been without Claire in his own century. Why did these people care anyway? Why was he offered help? He had told them he had no way to pay for it and yet he was given commendable nourishment and promise to find him relatives, notwithstanding that they had assumed he had suffered amnesia, not knowing anyone in this world. It intrigued him, this future, where benevolence prevailed, though it wasn't enough to impact upon him more than asking to be rolled over to the window in the wheelchair he was given as he was too weak to stand on his own. 

 

It was this way, staring out at the bustle of the late afternoon rush hour that Claire had found him, stumbling in and breathless in her haste to get to the scene and find out for herself who the mysterious time traveller was, barely alive when he was recovered from the stone circle. One glance at the profile of the man, dark in contrast to the light illuminating the room from the window, and she flew to him, a flood of emotions threatening to burst out from under her skin, looking for purchase in the embrace she gave him, brash and resolute and not caring just yet about the reaction it might elicit, “Jack! Jack? Is that really you?” 

 

“Cc...Claire?” He finally managed when she took to regard him at arm's length, holding onto his shoulders. A stone statue still, now complete with an agape mouth, Jack felt as if the world would have stopped still along with his heart and threatened to crush him at the same time if what he was seeing wasn't actually the truth. 

 

“Jack! Jack, how did you get here?” Came the obvious question.

 

“How did you?” He shook his head, finding it hard to breathe. 

 

“Alright, alright,” Claire pulled back a little, but didn't dare to let go of his hand while she pulled the small table by the window closer to sit on and take a position where they could look into each other's eyes in close proximity as they tried to figure out the logistics of this turn of events. “You first. Where did you come from?” She asked somewhat hesitantly. Because what if this Jack came from another time and wasn't her Jack at all but the monster she had encountered at Wentworth. 

 

“Stone circle in Jamaica,” he answered quickly, now eager to get to the end of the conversation. If this miracle was really happening, he wanted her in his arms, sooner rather than later. 

 

Claire nodded eagerly too. His response had crushed her worst theories. “How did you get there? You were dying. Jamie buried you,” she reiterated the facts as she knew them.

 

“He didn't. He gave me to Geillis Duncan as human sacrifice for her crossing over. She didn't expect me to hear it, the humming of the stones, close to deafening. She lay me down right next to a stone. I touched it and thought of you. It brought me here and I didn't know why, not till now!”

 

“But now it's clear it is because this is where I am!” Claire's words were harder to discern through her smiling and her tears. 

 

“How are you here?” Jack's forehead creased again with the question.

 

Claire sobered somewhat and she contained herself, “Sissy.”

 

“Sissy?” Jack echoed, panicky at her tone. Of course the state of the affairs could not be as rosy as it first appeared. 

 

Claire shook her head, “do not worry, she is safe. But you know how I told you that your brother's heart condition was hereditary and that one of William's children also had it? Sissy too, I became aware of it shortly after arriving to Jamie's aunt's plantation where she caught a fever. She did come very close to dying there and then I knew that I had to bring her back here where she could be treated. I thought she'd be much safer here, in the case of any complications at any case, but thankfully it turns out the disease running in your family was due to a heart defect that could be corrected with surgery in her case. Adhering to the right life style, there's no reason why she couldn't live as long as any of us. It's good I came, Jack,” she emphasized, as if trying to convince herself a bit. 

 

“You're not planning on going back?” Jack tested, especially as her last sentence didn't sound too sure.

 

“No. Every time I stepped into the whirlpool, I felt like losing a piece of me, you must've felt it too. I can't go back, I wouldn't leave the children anyway.”

 

“Children?” 

 

A smile instantly spread on Claire's face, “I wasn't even sure Sissy could make it back here, it was a serious risk, but I had to take it given how poorly she was. She could have been ripped away from me in the vortex, or dropped at the stones as I passed. But not only did she make it back, but we had a passenger too. Unbeknownst to me, Brianna stole away from her father she never really got used to calling on that name and jumped at my feet at the last moment, when I was already touching the stone. All three of us arrived safe and sound and I have no intentions of putting them through that again, risk being separated. It was bad enough thinking I had to leave Brianna behind and now you're here! She will be so happy, getting her pops back! We can be a family again,” she pulled his hand to her chest, “now that I found you. Sorry it has taken me so long to get here, but I never knew about you, not till Reverend Wakefield called saying a man looking like Frank has been found at Craigh na Dun. Frank died while I was away, from a heart attack. No doubt this disease is still getting passed on, many generations down, but you don't have it, I'm sure, it would've shown by now, with whatnot you've been through. His life was in England and I have all his papers so there's no reason why you couldn't assume his identity if we settled somewhere down in America. What do you think?” Claire squeezed his hand eagerly. 

 

“I think that I don't deserve this,” he muttered confused, eyes unseeing as if in a dream. 

 

“You sure don't deserve heaven either, so it must be true and real, believe it,” she kissed him on the cheek. 

 

He turned his face slowly to look at the apparition, take in her features, convince himself that she was really there and offering all he could ever dream of. He didn't even care about having to get used to a different historical time. “I love you Claire.” Perhaps it wasn't the right thing to say, but he was overwhelmed by all that happened. All he wanted to do was bury his head in her bosom and let his tears flow like a baby's. 

 

She sat back seriously, without letting go off him still, a part of her also worried that he would dissipate in the fabric of time if she did so. A bit more reserved than how she talked when he was on his deathbed and she didn't know for sure he could hear her, but she found it in herself to openly admit: “we have been through too much for me to keep pretending that I didn't come to love you over the years as well. We would be seen as man and wife in both centuries, let us live like that too,” Claire settled for her heart's wish.

 

The End.


End file.
